Fills
by arrowmaker247
Summary: First prompt: I would like to see a fic in which Miranda meets one of the egg donors that Henry used to select her. My only request is no incest. Other than that, go nuts. Make the mom an original character. Spin reality and make her mom Chakwas, Kelly, or Jack. Make her mom Reg's mom. I don't care. I just want to see Miranda interact with one of her mothers. :)
1. Miranda's Moms

_AM247: It's been a long time since I've written anything for this site. Almost a decade, in fact. Bear with me if there are any errors in the posting process._

_So, chapters for this story will consist of fills I've done for prompts on the ME kinkmeme. Some are things I've written solo, others are things I've done with my cowriter. I'll start each chapter with a description of the prompt, followed by any necessary notes. I'm planning to start off with the more serious fills first, then get into more crackish territory, most likely. For those of you familiar with the Miranda fills on the kinkmeme, I am the anon responsible for Dick Shepard._

_Anywhoo..._

_Prompt: I remember seeing a prompt some time ago for something involving Miranda meeting her moms, and I have something. Its rough, it butchers science, and probably canon, but it was fun to write. XD My idea was to create two characters with flaws, and controversial behavior, to represent different motifs seen in Miranda's own character. I hope I accomplished that, at least a little. :)_

_Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bioware, save for Shosh, Indira, and Hannah Katz, which belong to me and my cowriter. Also, a big thanks to jtav, for their thoughts on Miranda's years. I could not have come up with ideas, like the krogan-biotic procedure as an explanation for Miranda's biotics, or Oleg's intelligence and expanded personality, without his/her stories for inspiration. :D_

Australia, 2165

It was quiet on the shuttle. Nothing but the low hum of the engine to keep Dr. Indira Patel company, as she headed toward outskirts of Sydney, Lawson Manor looming in the distance.

Normally, Indira never would have considered taking on such a job. She was a neurosurgeon, one of the best the Alliance had produced in the past few decades. In her younger, more ambitious years, she would have killed to land a job like this. Implanting a teenage girl with eezo nodules, to produce biotics to rival an asari commando…it was a thrilling prospect.

And one laden with ethical difficulties, she noted. After watching dozens of young men and women come off her operating table either disabled, or dead, she'd had enough. Indira had taken a trip to Thessia, to investigate all she could about biotic potential from the foremost experts in the galaxy: the asari. Conatix had fired her of course, and representatives from the Alliance had been furious, claiming that she had made mankind look weak for consulting the Asari.

To hell with them. The asari were able to confirm the link between eezo and biotics, and offer a great deal of insight into her research on implant implementation. So far, she had a 94% success rate in her implant surgeries since visting Thessia. That last six percent was mainly due to outlying factors, such as diabetes, cerebral palsy, or even the influence of parasites, as was the case with one child. For the majority of healthy teenagers, the operation had an increased success rate of 30%. The only problem now lay in disorders that could be counteracted with the application of gene therapy, and of course, in the implants. The L2 was more powerful, certainly, but all too dangerous.

Perhaps her next trip to Thessia would involve further scientific inquiry, without the fear of voacational termination. Serrice had been a cultural marvel on par with ancient Greece, or the Mayan Empire before the Spanish invasion, or China, at the height of the Ming Dynasty. Humanity could learn so much from the Asari. And with their help, perhaps she could finally get rid of that last six percent in her work. Losing her grant with Conatix was certainly worth it, if it meant fewer dead teenagers.

But before she could begin work toward an L3 implant, she needed to be forgiven by her main backers, the Alliance. That would take time. And she had a family to feed. A husband that served as a lieutenant commander in the Alliance Marines, and three girls. One about to go off to college, one well situated in her rebellious teen years, and one just about to enter them.

Henry Lawson had been willing to offer plenty of money to ensure that his own daughter,a girl of fifteen—Miranda, if she recalled correctly—be implanted with nodules to conduct biotics. It was a risky procedure, one that she couldn't imagine performing on a human being, though Henry assured her that the girl was well-suited for the procedure.

Indira didn't believe him. For all those rumors about genetic perfection, the procedure had still been developed by the Krogan, for Krogan physiology. A good portion of them embraced pain and struggle the way children embraced candy and toys. And they had organs to spare for the procedure. This girl did not.

She could have refused. There were others beside the Alliance and Henry Lawson that would pay for her services. And backers without the same history.

Indira was well acquainted with Henry Lawson. Professionally, he was brilliant, a trailblazer in the field of bioengineering, turning magic into science with his abilities. But he was also ethically reprehensible, most of his experiments the result of shady practices and questionable intents. How he managed to get his thoughts past a review board, Indira had no idea. Henry's money worked just as many miracles as the man himself, she supposed.

On a personal level, she hated to be around him. He was controlling, smug, and utterly obsessed with perfection. There had been a time where she had forgiven him for it. She was young, she thought that there was something better lurking under his surface, something worth holding onto. There was nothing to him, only cowardice, selfishness, and a nature that consumed all around him, never satisfied with the simple pleasures the world had to offer, always wanting more.

To think she had almost married the man…nearly twenty years later, and it still made her stomach churn.

But when it boiled down to it, there was only one reason that she had accepted the contract. It wans't the money. It was the fact that if she didn't do this operation, someone else would. Someone less qualified than her. Someone that could make a mistake, and hurt the girl. Henry never settled for less than the best. When it came to medicine, to patient care, Indira had the same policy.

The shuttle set down soon enough, and the man in question came to greet her. Twenty years later, and he was still handsome, thick black hair only just beginning to grey, and crows feet only just beginning to gather at the corners of bright, intense, blue eyes.

"Indira." He held out his hand to shake hers. "A pleasure as always."

"Likewise." Indi lied, shaking his hand.

They took a stroll through the halls, and stepped into a room, Henry speaking to Indira, handing over charts and folders to the doctor, as another woman stood in the corner, observing. While Indira was dark-eyed and dark-skinned, this other woman was blonde and tanned, grey eyes focusing on Henry, carefully fathomless and clean, not a hint of feeling showing through. But every so often, there would a twitch—a slight narrowing of her eyes, the clench of her fingers, the outline of a tightened jaw, to allow her true feelings to show through.

Most people in the Alliance were familiar with the woman. Commander Shoshanah Katz.

Indira's husband, Marshall, had only been seriously injured during an N7 training seminar once. He had been partnered with Shoshanah.

The soldiers had the pressure of their punches tested that time. Even though Shoshanah couldn't have been more than a hundred and forty pounds, she was able to strike hard enough to pack about one thousand pounds of pressure into her hardest punch. Marshall himself had fallen behind her by only fifty pounds. So when it came time to spar, he had the good sense to move before she caught him in the chest. Instead, her fist connected with his arm, making him feel very much as though he had just been hit by a mack truck wearing a blonde wig. The shattered bones in his arms agreed.

Shoshanah Katz's reputation was well earned. She had been part of the surviving forces to report back from the Relay 314 incident. She had served with the ground forces on Shanxi, using guile and stealth to procure food and supplies for her fellow soldiers. And when the Batarians began to threaten the Skyllian verge, she came back from skirmishes, stained head to toe in Batarian blood.

Shoshanah was not a typical Alliance soldier. She was a relic from a time before the Alliance had formed, and swept all that had happened in Earth's Middle East under the rug. Most of the soldiers in the Alliance were unprepared for the single-minded determination of the Turians when First Contact hit, unable to understand why they were being targeted simply for exploring, simply for being different. Shoshanah hadn't batted an eyelash at the result. She had the teachings of thousands of years of persecution locked into her genetics. Of the tortures brought to life during the Spanish Inquisition, the rein of the Third Reich, and the conflicts in the Arab world. Long before mankind had discovered aliens, Shoshanah had been raised in a desert land, with people trained as soldiers not to invade, or protect, but to survive in a world that had been hostile to them for millennia. Aliens were merely one more group to defend against. This fight for territory, for survival, was nothing new to her.

She was feared, she was competent, and she was thought to be one of the best soldiers the Alliance had ever produced.

So why she was here with Henry Lawson, Indira could not fathom. Unless…her suspicions about the soldier were accurate.

But her thoughts were soon interrupted by the wealthy Dr. Lawson.

"That's all the information available." Henry was having a hard time keeping the pleased note out of his voice. Smarmy git, Kalika, her youngest, would have called him. And she would have been right.

"I see." Indira pushed her glasses up from the tip of her nose, back to the bridge. "And when do I get to meet this daughter of yours? You know that I have a habit of meeting my patients before opening them. There are things that may need to be said."

"I suppose that can be done." Henry frowned for a moment, before tapping his omnitool. "Miranda, come here. Your doctor wishes to speak to you."

A girl of fifteen appeared not long after. She was pale, the same porcelain shade that one would have found in the European noblewomen of old. Certainly a shade of pale that wouldn't have been possible with her father's coarse, peasant's tan. But that was not what struck Indira. What struck Indira was the girl's black hair, and bright blue eyes. She looked just like Aishi in that way.

But Aishi smiled when she met new people. This girl was nervous, as Sarisha sometimes was. This girl, however, was not looking at her feet, or trying to avoid Indira's gaze. She was sending nervous glances toward her father, searching his eyes for any hint of disproval.

Oh, Indira had heard rumors about Henry Lawson's children. Rumors of intolerable standards and gilded isolation, of nursery homes and asylums when his daughters did not please him.

She was reaching up to toy with the hem of her shirt. Aishi did the same thing when she nervous.

Oh God. No…he couldn't have…would he?

She'd never dreamed he would sink this low. When she'd gone into that clinic during her final year of med school, with only Marshall to hold her hand, she thought she'd done all she could to keep that child out of Henry's grasp. She was wrong.

"Miranda, is it?" Indira managed a kind smile, and offered her a hand. "I'm Dr. Patel. I understand that you and I are going to be working together later. Do you have any questions about the procedure?"

From the corner of the room, Shoshanah Katz shifted, something flashing through her eyes as she looked first at the girl, then at Henry.

"I assure you, she's researched it thoroughly." Henry spoke for the girl. "If she truly wished to accomplish herself, however, she'd convince Commander Katz to be her private tutor. Her martial skills could use some improvement. But where Miranda is concerned, plenty of things could be improved, in my opinion."

Both Indira and Miranda played with the hem of their blouses at that comment.

"And I'll give her the same answer I've given you, Mr. Lawson." Shoshanah's voice cracked like ice. "My skills, my services, my *body* are in the services on the Alliance. I'm not the sort that can be bought with money."

Henry cast a smile toward Shoshanah. "And that's part of what makes you so very…remarkable, young lady."

Shoshanah crossed her arms at the remark, squeezing down on her bicep to stop from clenching a fist.

Miranda straightened up, confidence drawing over her like a snug blanket, as she scowled at Shoshanah. "I seriously doubt that a woman who spends most of her time blustering about warfare in front of a camera has enough time left over to train. And if she does, then I doubt there's little she could teach me that I couldn't figure out on my own."

Fear crept through Indira at that moment. Shoshanah was on edge, and unhappy to be here. And Miranda was provoking her. Why would a girl so clever suddenly be so foolish? It was…it was exactly the sort of thing a fifteen-year-old girl would do.

But Shoshanah merely laughed at Miranda. "No, sweetheart. You can't. Sure, you can teach yourself form, and technique, but tell me this: When you think about throwing a punch, you just think about hitting the pad, right?"

She narrowed her gaze at Henry. "When I go to the gym, or I step into battle, I don't think about hitting pads. I don't even imagine hitting through pads. I imagine that pad is the head of someone that…that just doesn't sit well with me. Someone who took something from me. Someone I don't like very much. Someone that one day, I'm gonna have a chat with. And that chat is gonna end not with me hitting him, but with my fist going right through his chest, and grabbing a few organs for a keepsake. Think about that next time you train to fight, Princess."

Before Indira could reflexively snap at Shoshanah for speaking to Miranda as she had, Henry cleared his throat in an uncomfortable fashion, and let out an awkward chuckle, as Miranda rolled her eyes at Shoshanah.

Henry was still uncomfortable with physical violence, Indi noted. Good. He never liked it when someone suggested a conflict that he would lose, especially a martial one. Reminded him too much of how his father and those kids in his school would knock him around, she supposed.

"Well, Commander, as always you are…spirited. But I think that's enough for now." Henry nodded to Miranda. "Did you wish to speak to Dr. Patel? She is one of the best in her field. I suggest you do not waste this opportunity."

"Yes, father." Miranda quickly regained her poise, and nodded to Indi. "I have researched the procedure thoroughly, Dr. Patel. And I have looked into your record as well. I understand that you are accomplished for your field, but I have some questions. There is a six percent failure rate in your procedure. How do you plan to correct this?"

Despite herself, Indi smiled. Looking to improve. Good. In this matter, perfection, or something close, was ideal. Perhaps this girl would become a doctor herself…if she lived long enough. "Gene therapy will ideally take care of the issues surrounding some of the pre-existing conditions that enter into the surgery. But I imagine you've already looked into the theory around that, particularly the moral objections that some in the religious community have to the process. I'm afraid that isn't my field. The main method I'm concerned with is the implementation of a new implant. I believe that the dangers of the L2 outweigh the benefits in far too many cases. I would like to see an L3 produced. Very soon."

"Wouldn't a new implant merely lead to the same trouble?" Miranda asked immediately. "The body is not easily programmed to accept foreign visitors, as one often sees in the case of organ transplants. If biotics were simply regulated to the central nervous system, that would not be an issue. But biotics affect all nerve endings, and as such, may activate the immune system to target them. The implants today also interfere with brain chemistry, and cannot easily reverse some of the effects that follow. Who is to say that a new implant won't simply antagonize the processes at work even further? It's simply another piece of metal."

"You're correct." Indira nodded. "I'm afraid that I was taken from Serrice a bit earlier than expected, but personally, I do not believe that the answer lies in implants at all. Implants are merely a means to an end, for now."

Miranda's blue-grey eyes lit up. There was hunger in that gaze, a thirst for understanding that Indi knew all too well. "What do you propose in lieu of implants?"

"At this point in time, I don't know." Indi shrugged. "I'm afraid I haven't contemplated the matter enough. I'm a surgeon, Miranda. I spend more time thinking about how to use what I have, rather than to create what I don't have. What I'd like to see is an organic basis for biotics, as the Asari have. Implants would be rendered useless, and unnecessary, were humans predisposed to biotics. But that is not the case, and will not be, unless evolution plays—or is altered, more likely—in our favor. In the meantime, it would be very interesting if some clever engineer could figure out a way to harness organic materials, rather than synthetic, to serve as the basis for an implant. I think its an avenue to explore."

She smiled softly at Miranda, deciding to ask one of the thousands of questions that had been flooding her mind since first laying eyes on the girl. "Perhaps you could be that engineer. Are you interested in engineering as a career? What would you like to do with your life?"

Henry cleared his throat to interrupt, before Miranda could continue. "I think that's enough for now. Come, Miranda. It's time to prepare for your surgery."

When Henry and Miranda had left, Indi turned on Shoshanah. "I have some questions for you."

Now or never, she supposed. She hoped her suspicions were correct.

"And I went to a lot of trouble to procure that pack of information." Shoshanah retorted, gesturing to the folder in Indi's hands, and not stopping in her path to the exit. "You may as well read it."

"I know full and well that the Alliance did not grant you passage to Tuchanka." Indi's voice rang out, sharp and clear as a bell. "I suggest you listen to my words, Commander Katz. Or should I call you 'Operative'?"

That was enough to make Shoshanah turn, and glare at her. "If you cared to do anything about it, you would have reported me already. So what do you want?"

"You know about the girl, don't you? Miranda? How she was crafted by Henry Lawson, and a template of thousands of women across the known galaxy." Seeing something simmer low in those grey eyes, Indi commented, "I'm not the only one he stole from, am I?"

"No. You're not." Shoshanah growled. "What of it?"

"I have children. A husband. People in my life that would certainly face Henry's wrath if I ever tried to intervene for Miranda. I don't have a black-ops group to protect them." Indira gave her a hard stare. "But you…you have the backing of a man that can fool the Commandos, STG, and even Corsairs, like my husband. Why don't you take that poor girl away from this place?"

"Why should I care about the little shit?" Shoshanah snapped, vitriol finally breaking through.

Stunned, outraged even, Indi found herself losing the cool posture she'd tried to maintain, and shouting right back, "Because she is your child, Shoshanah! Just as she is mine!"

"She's not my child. Henry stole any choice in that matter." Shoshanah snapped. "If you have a husband and children, then it sounds as though he didn't bother to harvest all your eggs in a med lab, while you were fifteen and had no idea what to expect of your first papsmear. What the hell are you complaining about?"

A sneer crossed her lips. "Why the hell do you care so much about the damn kid you paid money to have ripped from your belly all those years back? You're not the only one who knows things, Indira."

Something sharp lodged in Indi's chest at that moment. A hot blush threatened to crawl up her dark cheeks, and her mind was clouded with the same murky, uncomfortable sensation, the one that always arrived when she thought back to her choices. She thought she loved Henry Lawson at one point. She believed she was doing the right thing when she left him, when she took the child away. She was fresh out of med school. She had no resources, no ability to keep that child safe from him. The baby never would have been good enough for him. And Henry tossed away things that were not good enough for him. She knew this. She couldn't allow a child to face that kind of life. But the doubts still lingered. Still crowded the wide expanses of her mind. Had she made the right choice? A different fiancé, three new children later…could there have been a place for another daughter in that family, if she had just tried?

Those were thoughts for another time. And certainly not ones to be shared with Shoshanah Katz.

"I did that, because I wasn't about to sentence her to a life under Henry Lawson's thumb! And here she is anyway. And so, it is my duty, as her mother, to get her away from him!"

"I have a duty to humanity as a whole. That little girl is nothing to me." Shoshanah turned, but Indira's voice broke her steps.

"And what if it was Hannah in this situation?"

"Don't bring my sister into this." Shoshanah hissed.

"Your sister is already part of this." Indi glowered at the soldier. "I know what Cerberus has been doing to those children. The ones that have disappeared from med labs without so much as a trace. Better for them to have died on operating table, as you told their parents, then to be subjected to the experiments I hear about. Is that what you hope for Hannah one day? She's showing biotic potential."

"Hannah will be with me!" Shoshanah snarled in response. "And if you even think of-"

"If what, Shoshanah? You're going right into Skyllian Verge in days. The Alliance says it's a routine patrol, but I know better. I know that you don't need that much starship fuel, or medical supplies, for a routine patrol. You're going into the Hegemony. Do you suppose you're coming back from this assignment alive? You think Jack Harper will swoop in to rescue you?"

Shoshanah was quiet for a long moment, and Indi shook her head. "I know you've left Hannah things. Ways to take care of herself, if all else fails. But what about Miranda? Doesn't she deserve some protection from her mother?"

The soldier gritted her teeth and clenched her fist, clearly ready to throw one of those 1K punches someone's way. "She is NOT my family! Hannah is the only one left!"

"And Hannah could be in some trouble, couldn't she? I was called in to work with those exposed to the explosion at Havana base. You're stationed there, and Hannah is living nearby, is she not? I saw her in a med bay not two days ago. Her scans are excellent, but her neurological activity has spiked tremendously. I think we both know what that means."

The doctor spoke softly. "You can leave her food, money, tuition for an education, a priceless family name for the military. You can even get Cerberus to treat her as a recruit, rather than a test subject. But you cannot control the grasp of the Alliance. They will find her, they will send her straight out to Jump Zero, and they will cut open her skull, and place a little square of metal at the base of her cerebellum. If they do it right, she'll be a marvel. The very example of the wonderful humanity you and Mr. Harper are working so hard to save. If they do it wrong, then there's migraines, crippling pain, insanity, Celiac's Disease, Parkinsons, Alzheimers, hemorrhaging, other forms of brain damage, death. All manner of things that will show up as side effects in her medical records, and tragedies in her obituary."

Indi took a step forward. "You have a soldier's duty, Shoshanah. Your duty is to take orders and protect the people around you. I have a similar duty. I am charged with protecting those that seek healing from me. But I am also a mother, and with that, comes a surprising level of selfishness, when desperate. You are making me desperate, Shoshanah. And I shall do the same to you. So understand, that no matter if you live or die, I am THE best surgeon for biotics in this galaxy. Its why I'm here today, giving Miranda her biotics. One day, Hannah will be under the knife of either a mediocre surgeon, a skilled surgeon, or one of the best living. I am one of the best living, Shoshanah.

She narrowed cold, dark eyes at Shoshanah's cloudy grey. "If you leave today, and tell Jack Harper about Miranda, about special she is, what a wonderful asset she could be to Cerberus, if she were taken away from her father, then the day that Hannah visits my OR will be an excellent one. But if you leave, and think nothing of Miranda Lawson again, Hippocratic Oath be damned, my knife will slip when Hannah Katz comes into my care."

"You're lying." Shoshanah's face was calm, but her voice beleaguered with tension.

"Are you willing to take that chance?"

"The Illusive Man already knows, and has plans, for Miranda Lawson. Rest assured, they're not in the vein of test subject—though I certainly suggested it." The soldier's voice was thick with venom. "She could be one of our best recruits in a year's time."

Those grey eyes locked right onto those deep brown ones. "And rest assured, I won't forget about this, Dr. Patel. And I won't be as gentle as you when its *my* knife hanging over *your* head."

"Unlikely. I'm too valuable to you." Indi met her gaze with an even stare. "You do an excellent job of playing the angry, vengeful child of First Contact. You do an excellent job of playing a muscle-bound Alliance loyalist. Their best one, I suspect, if the years are kind to you. No one's even noticed that your work has allowed for the entire media network of the galaxy to be infiltrated by Cerberus agent. That every interview you've done has been a chance to gauge the reactions of every reporter, to see who could be recruited, or replaced—by another name, or someone wearing their own. That you have personally insisted on delivering the dogtags, medicards, and identitags of every soldier, doctor, and civilian that has ever served under your command, to their families. Why, I'll bet you even gave the order for that poor boy on the SSV Geneva to give the name 'Cerberus', especially after the front-runner for the Alliance's Prime Minister just lost her credibility. I'm sure recruitment numbers are record high, now that you've spun the tale of the incompetent Alliance, and the daring Cerberus forces."

Indi shook her head. "You're cunning, but you can't conceal all that keen, tactical thinking behind knives and guns and fists. Tactically speaking, I'm far too valuable for you to do away with. And the probability of you striking out of revenge, when said person could be useful to you, is about 0.0311125346. Statistically insignificant."

"Did you just calculate the probability of that in your head?"

"I calculated it about five minutes ago, when I told you what I was willing to do to procure Miranda's safety."

"Huh. How do you know all this, anyway?"

"A lot of it, I didn't." Indi shrugged. "Most it, you just confirmed. People say a lot of things they shouldn't when they're on pain killers."

A smirk crossed the commander's face, despite herself. "I suppose I should be grateful its your brains lodged in my body, and not Henry's. If that kid is half as good a liar as you, or me, she might just make something of herself. At the very least, she'll survive Henry's idea of parenting."

Shoshanah paused for a moment, then stepped forward. Indira stood her ground, ready to brace herself for an attack. But instead, Shoshanah stepped toward her hip, pivoting to take a peek around her shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"She has your hair, and your lips. My arms and legs, and shoulders. And abs." Shoshanah quirked a brow at Indira's backside. "There are other…parts…that she certainly didn't get from me."

"Oh." Indi blinked. "I was wondering about that too. No, Henry certainly did not copy my posterior when he composed Miranda."

Both women blinked for a moment.

"Any idea why-"

"Not a clue."

"Huh."

"Honestly, I'm more curious about why she's white."

"Seems to go hand in hand with the fanatical idea of genetic perfection, if history has taught us anything."

"I would have gone with a nice tan, myself. Something ambiguous."

"And more practical, for that matter."

"True. This is Australia. I can't believe the girl isn't the color of a raw steak."

"Her father probably doesn't let her get out much."

The two women were quiet for another moment, before Shoshanah scowled, and declared, "I believe we're done here, Dr. Patel."

Shoshanah was calm as she left. Shoshanah was calm as she passed the patient's ward, and watched the girl with the blue-grey eyes watch her leave. She was calm as Henry's guards saluted her on her way back to her shuttle.

She was calm until the door clicked shut, and she clenched her fingers, snarling in rage as she slammed her fist into the wall, scattering chips of paint and plaster on the floor, while bruises formed fresh her skin.

She didn't want this. That girl…she wasn't supposed to exist. Shoshanah had lost a father to the desert's violence, before the Alliance had formed. Her mother had died from Turian gunfire on Shanxi. Her only sister was in trouble, she knew that. Jack would look after her if anything happened. She had to believe this. She had given Jack everything, ever since Shanxi. Her dedication, her loyalty, her life, her love, her body…the only thing she couldn't give him was a child. That choice had been taken from her, and warped into something worse.

That girl was nothing. She was scraps. Take Mona Lisa's smile, The Scream's hands, The Girl's pearl earrings, pluck the stars from Van Gogh's Night, and one would not produce a masterpiece. Put all the pieces together, and it would be nothing more than a shade of what it was meant to be. A cracked mirror. She was not special. She was no ubermensch.

She was not Shoshanah's child. And she'd kill Henry Lawson for this, if she lived long enough to do it.

Indi was calm as well. She was calm leaving the room, and heading toward her OR. She was calm as she changed into her scrubs. She was calm as she looked at her surgical mask, and surgical cap. She was calm until she looked up briefly, and caught sight of the tools at her disposal. The scalpel neatly laid out at her work station.

Hot, salty tears splashed down her dark cheeks, smearing her mascara and splashing into the the sink below. She stayed like this for a few moments, letting the tears splash against the cool metal of the washbasin, until she collected her senses, clearing her throat and straightening up, as she continued her sanitization ritual.

This little girl was not going to die under Henry Lawson's impossible standards. She would suffer, yes. But only for a little longer. Indi was not foolish. Miranda would be protected soon enough, but she would never live an easy life. It would be one haunted by shadows and danger, by the fear of retribution and the difficulties of a wounded dove thrust from a gilded cage into a hostile world. But it would be Miranda's life to live as she chose. And for now…perhaps that was enough. Perhaps she should have tried to offer her that choice from the beginning. But thinking like that did nothing. For now, she was doing the best that she could do for her…daughter.


	2. The Early Years of Cerberus

_Prompt: It occurs to me that Miranda didn't exactly enter Cerberus until 2165, or 2166. And even with her smarts, it would have taken her some time to become TIM's second. So my question is: Who was the second in command before Miranda showed up? Have at it, A!As._

2150

Her little sister is born in a military hospital, far away from the gunfire and explosions. The desert has gone from blistering hot to bone-chilling cold as the sun sets.

On one side, Shoshanah holds her mother's hand as she gives birth. Her father is not in the waiting room. Oleg is. He is her mother's best friend, but he is not the same as her father. Shoshanah wishes he was there.

Hours later, a soldier enters the hospital, tags in hand. She introduces herself as Lieutenant Shepard, and she informs Shoshanah and her mother that Sargeant Katz has been killed in action.

When the Systems Alliance formed, people did not simply go along with it. Most did, but resistant groups still formed, both in the most dangerous sects of Earth, and the safest. Shoshanah's father was part of the military force sent to deal with such resistance.

Oleg holds her mother as she cries. Shoshanah holds her new little sister. She does not have a name yet. She does not cry. Her sister does not either.

When her mother has composed herself, she decides to name the little girl after the woman that brought her the news of her husband's passing. Hannah.

2153

She is eighteen now. Old enough to enlist. On her first day, she knocks her partner unconscious during a training session. It is an accident. Still, one would think that the instructor would be able to take a punch.

2156

General Williams looks at her as though she has gone mad. She cannot fault him, given what she saw during her patrol through Relay 314.

"Aliens? Are you sure?"

"Positive." Shoshanah holds her head high. "You can verify my story with Pressley, Fawkes, and Singh."

The general is quiet for a moment. Shoshanah has to fight the urge to fidget. If she were home, there would be no contemplation about what needs to be done. Israel did not survive for so long by being hesitant in matters of warfare.

Instead, she asks, "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"The birds killed dozens of good men and women aboard those ships. I believe it was an act of war." Something flickers in her grey eyes as she speaks. "I suggest we begin preparing for one."

2157

She will be hailed as a hero when she returns to Earth, they say. A definite N7 recruit. As if she pulled off some masterful feat during the war.

Before First Contact, the soldiers were weak, spoiled. A united Earth softened them. They did not understand that conflict—real conflict, against overwhelming odds—breeds innovation. They said there was no structures for them to hide under, that the birds would find them, and send fire from the sky.

They did not know to camouflage their movements. There are no structures in the desert. One cannot see the mines, the bombs, the shrapnel, until it rains from above. A good soldier needs to sink into the earth itself to cover ground. To watch out for traps.

Only five soldiers made it…Anderson, Mariano, Shepard, Sullivan, Katz. Only five. The men ate something besides tree bark that night, and for that reason alone, the five would be honored.

Shoshanah doesn't care, because there are only three people in this world that she wishes to be proud of her. One of them is lying in a morgue on Shanxi.

There are streaks of grey in her mother's hair. Before the war, it was the color of sunshine, just as Shoshanah's is. She looks at peace, lying there under a white sheet, as though the simple, sewn fabric will erase the fact that she was delivered to this place with a gut full of shrapnel.

Still, Shoshanah takes her mother's icy hand, and kisses her cheek, just as she would have, were her flesh still pink and warm. She whispers a few Hebrew words into her mother's ear. Words of comfort. No prayers. In her opinion, God went extinct when the skullfaces showed up at Realy 314.

The war is over now. And all Shoshanah can think about is that Hannah doesn't have a mother anymore. It doesn't quite register to her that she is an orphan as well.

Oleg approaches soon, and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry. I was in charge of the unit. I should have-"

"Don't." Shoshanah immediately interrupts him. She can't hear an apology. Not now. Not from him. "Soldiers die, Oleg. I heard about the skirmish. It was an impossible situation for you, for her, for all the soldiers involved. Ima died doing her duty."

"Regardless, I am sorry."

They speak for some time after that. He asks her about what she will do after the war. He points out that they are standing on the precipice of change, on the crux of history being made.

"Do you trust the Alliance to do what needs to be done?" Oleg asks, and Shoshanah bristles.

"Professionally? Or personally?"

"Off the record."

"No. Of course not." Shoshanah swallows hard. "I see a lot more dead mothers in the future if they continue their policies as such."

"I suspected that you would say as such." Oleg smiles to Shoshanah. "If you will, there is someone I would like to introduce you to tomorrow. He's becoming somewhat reknowned for his writings on the extranet. You may have read his manifesto…"

2158

She likes to think that she has let go of the old prejudices she developed on Earth. She likes to think that she now stands for a strong humanity, moreso than a strong Jewish state. But she still sees parallels.

Turians. A military state. Only attacked because they believed their borders were threatened. No civilians, really. Only soldiers. Like Israel. She respects them.

Krogan. Sterilized. Persecuted. Home worlds threatened. Betrayed. Ostracized. Still fighting. She likes them very well.

Asari. Arrogant. Useless. Use other races as tools, underwhelming personal power. Take more credit than is due. Will abandon allies at a moment's notice, once usefulness has worn out. Strength comes from advancement, no real fighting spirit. The population is docile, soft. Arrogance. Only power in numbers, expansion, and luck. Too dependent on allies, and doesn't even realize it.

Salarians. Shifty. Scientific. Soft, not soldierly. But dangerous, due to apitutude, to organization, to innovation.

Volus, Hanar, Elcor…irrelevant. Squalling. Angry at power given to those who deserve it.

Quarians. Weak, but scrappy. Hard working. Might in numbers, and in technology.

Batarians…vermin. Threat. She looks at them, and she sees the Third Reich. Inquisition Spain. Stalinist Russia. Biblical Egypt. The zealots that tortured her people during the Black Death.

She makes her opinions well known. She endorses the idea that humanity must be powerful on its own. She is careful not to insult the Alliance. She paints herself as the Alliance's war dog, all gnashing teeth and ferocious barking, always directed at strangers passing by her territory. An honest, down-to-earth warrior, who tells it like it is. The Terra Firma party loves her. The media loves her. Good. All is going as planned.

2159

"Jack." Shoshanah purrs, her voice rich, deep, and silky as she curls against him, gently nipping at his earlobe.

"Shoshanah." Jack looks at her with translucent blue eyes, and grins as he pulls the cigarette from his lips. "We'll have the technology for our first AI system in a few years, I imagine. I think she would be incomplete without a voice like yours."

2160

Shoshanah narrows her eyes at the picture. The girl has black hair, and blue eyes, like her thieving father. She is young, but Shoshanah recognizes pieces of the girl. Shoulders that will take years of abuse without showing any wear and tear. Arms that will allow her to deliver strikes with hundreds of pounds of pressure behind them. Knees that will cause tension pneumothoraces. Legs that will allow her to run marathons. Stolen. All stolen.

"I understand that Henry Lawson has plans to make this girl into a biotic." The soldier comments. "I think she would be an ideal candidate for the Teltin facility."

Jack merely chuckles. "I already have plans for the young Ms. Lawson, Shoshanah. There's no place for her on Pragia."

2161

They call her the Lioness of the Verge for her actions out near the Skyllian. Colonies rejoice when they hear that she is commanding patrols in their region. She is yet to lose a single civilian to the pirates. She eviscerates threats to the colonies with dogged, ruthless efficiency. She is well loved for her success. A people's champion, as it is.

The Alliance loves her as well. She is a prized soldier. They do not realize that they have other names for her amongst intelligence circles. Phantom. Nemesis. She likes these names. She suggests to Jack that they name some of their new combat units after these monikers.

He agrees.

2162

Shoshanah smiles as she sits down to meet with the CEOs of Constant Times, Scott Examiner, and Galatic Broadcasting Corporations.

They think that she is there to negotiate exclusive interviewing rights with them. That she is auctioning off her thoughts and opinions at a monetary price. Money has little do with the price she's asking.

Later, when she is wiping the blood off her face and hands, and operatives are coming in to collect the signed contracts, clean up the bodies, and collect enough DNA to disguise themselves as the perished media heads, Shoshanah's omnitool rings.

"Hello? Hey, Hannah! How are you?"

Her tone is genuine. Bright. Cheerful. She speaks to her sister about her day, even as she wipes a spare drop of blood off her shoe, then hands both wipe and shoe to the servicing operative.

They talk about Hannah's day at school. The soccer game that Hannah will be playing in next week. Shoshanah assures her that she will be home to see it. She promises that the Alliance will only make them move one more time this year. She promises that Hannah will not be alone on Passover.

She has to stop to wipe blood off her knuckles once more. A security guard lies groaning on the ground behind her, his nose disfigured. She pushed the bones in his nasal cavity far back enough to pierce his brain. The operatives will take care of the body. Then she will take care of them.

She remembers that Hannah's birthday is coming up. She wonders what to get her.

2163

She makes it a point to personally deliver the dog tags of every fallen Alliance soldier under her command. No one notices the duplicated medicards and identitags.

2164

"Ms. Safin." Shoshanah salutes in a professional manner. "I am Commander Shoshanah Katz. I will be safeguarding your presence during your campaign. Is there anything that I should know about before we get started?"

2165

Shoshanah smiles as she hears the news. Her operative on the SSV Geneva has revealed the name of their organization. It looks as though the assignment has gone wrong. The Alliance will see it as a victory. They are wrong. The recruiting numbers will prove that.

But for the moment, she turns her attention to the four-year-old girl sitting next to her on the shuttle. She is scared, her brown eyes big and wide as she begins to regain consciousness.

Shoshanah smiles softly, and kneels down, so she is at the child's level. "Hi, Jennifer. My name is Commander Katz of the Systems of Alliance, but you can call me Shoshanah, if you like. Can I call you Jennifer?"

"It's Jack. I go by Jack." The child responds.

"Jack." Shoshanah can't help a grin. "It's a good name. I have a very good friend by that name."

"Where's my mom?" The little girl interrupts. "We were at the hospital. I know it."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Shoshanah sighs. "Do you know about Batarian pirates?"

"Mom and Dad talk about it sometimes." Jack responds. "They're worried that they'll hurt people on Eden Prime."

"The batarian pirates came today, and they did hurt people." Shoshanah bites her lip. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I got to you just in time, but your parents…they didn't make it."

The girl is angry. She blames Shoshanah. She cries, soon enough. Shoshanah holds her. She tells her that it will be alright. She tells her that it was not her fault. She gives the girl a little cup of ice cream when the tears stop. She promises to take care of her.

And Shoshanah means it. She is not a monster. She did not take this child from her home for some sadistic reason. This girl had more potential than any other human biotic in history. She would be hunted. She would be hurt. Her family could not protect her. Cerberus could.

The Teltin facility would look after her. Shoshanah would be overseeing it herself. She would make sure the girl was well cared for. She would grow up with Cerberus ideals, and serve the organization when the time came. Not because she had been forced, but because it would be her world, her purpose, as befitted the best biotic humanity had to offer. And Shoshanah would be there to guide her.

That would not come to pass. Shoshanah never even saw the facility on Pragia before she was taken.

2166

Elanos Haliat sends her a smile that makes her stomach lurch, as she lies there, blood trickling from her ears, and the open wounds on her abdomen and extremities. She's cold. She's going into shock, and she knows it. She needs to stop it. Needs to get warm, get focused. Stop him.

"With the money the Hegemony will give for you, I'll be able to fund my own damn war." The turian pirate laughs, before reaching for his belt buckle. "But I think I'll get a little sample of the goods before I send you off."

He samples the goods, as he puts it. His men do the same. She is unconscious when they arrive. But Haliat is left with a broken fringe, half a mandible, and shredded facial markings.

2167

She understands the hellish greeting she receives each time a politician or high ranking officer amongst the Batarians "welcomes" her into his or her home. She understands why they do not allow her to die. What she doesn't understand is why they insist on patching her up each time. Her face is restored from every broken bone, every bruise. She looks just as she does in her interviews. What's the point? Do they really need her pretty face intact for what they do to her?

She is not perfect. She no longer feels anything in four of her fingers. There is a nerve on her forehead that no longer responds. Her toes are crooked. Most of her teeth are fake. There are scars on her legs and belly that will never fade. Her ears ring. But her pretty face is intact.

The others think of themselves as animals. She remembers her name, rank, and serial number. She remembers Hannah. She is not an animal.

2168

Some days, they find it funny to feed her nothing but slices of ham. They find this funny, for they know this offends her. Some days, she takes out their eyes with nothing but her teeth and nails. She finds this funny, for she knows this offends them.

2169

She wants to die. Some days, she thinks she will.

Their semen is every bit as jaundiced as their faces. It stinks like rotten pork. She can feel it spreading through her body like an infection. She wishes it will kill her.

But it is not her time yet. This is not something she has determined herself. She is too tired to think much these days, beyond what is needed for survival.

But the ringing in her ears has changed. It is no longer a monotonous, singular tone. There are pitches, vibrations. Whispers. The whispers tell her that her current master is a scientist responsible for investigating a secret Batarian discovery: The Leviathan of Dis. His name is Dr. Hurglak.

The whispers care little about how the scientist pokes and prods at the enormous machine. But the scientist has began searching for the creature responsible for the Leviathan's demise.

This must not come to pass. Dr. Hurglak must turn back.

2170

The Hegemony is responsible for the majority of raids on the Alliance colonies. They claim it is piracy, unrelated to them, but Shoshanah knows better, after spending time at Balak's estate.

Dr. Hurglak accompanies raiders to Mindoir. They set upon the colony like a plague. Those who aren't slaughtered are brought to the ships, forced to bear Hurglak's new cranial implants. Alliance marines are in the distance. They cannot reach the colonists.

Something inside Shoshanah snaps. Seconds later, Hurglak lies dead, along with many of his guard. She has her fists and feet and knees and elbows, but now she has their guns and knives.

Many of the colonists die. Many are loaded onto ships. Shoshanah is a mess, covered from head to toe in blood and screaming "Esh!" with every strike. She registers that a number of children escape during her frenzy. She takes care to slay any Batarian that gives them a second look. They will grow up with the memory of her smashing a Batarian skull until it resembles a plate of scrambled eggs, but at least they will grow up. And they will be free.

The marines finally break through, just as the Batarians are leaving. A bullet is fired, and lodges into Shoshanah's chest.

The fire leaves her. She looks over, and sees that the shot was fired by an Alliance soldier. A new recruit, judging by his terrified face. She couldn't blame him. She must have looked worlds more frightening than any of the raiders.

2171

Shoshanah spends the next few months comatose, slipping into fever dreams about times long past. Some about her youth, her tenure with Cerberus, her time in the Alliance. Others about giant machines, sent to wipe humanity from the face of the universe. Jack had spoken of something like this, she notes.

At other times, she thinks she sees Hannah. Her sister is not so little anymore. She wears armor emblazoned with the symbol of the Blue Suns mercenary company. Her grey eyes, just like Shoshanah's, are worried.

Oleg is there as well. He places his hand on Hannah's shoulder. He tells her that his employer has treatments available for Shoshanah. Things to restore most of her functions, if not all. He wants Hannah to read his employer's manifesto.

2172

Cybernetics, physical therapy, and medication all work in Shoshanah's favor. She is on her feet again, but her mind is not the same.

Hannah's ex-boyfriend is the nephew of Dr. Indira Patel. She brings her in to examine Shoshanah's brain.

She has met Dr. Patel before. She watches as her lips move, as she tells Hannah that the damage is most significant in her right inferior parietal lobe.

Shoshanah watches Dr. Patel's lips move. She has the same mouth as the girl in Australia, the one Indira views as a lost daughter, and Shoshanah views as nothing. Little more than parts. Shoshanah herself is little more than parts herself these days, she supposes. But she did not steal the iron and wires running along her bones and muscles. They were gifts, given freely. The girl's father stole what he wanted.

She watches the doctor talk. The same mouth. She wants to carve a smile into those lips that will leave the good doctor looking like the Black Dahlia. But she won't. The doctor is good for humanity. She will save many people. She will be needed.

The same mouth. Shoshanah wishes that the girl had more of Indira inside her. The same dark skin, and brown eyes. Better than Lawson's icey hues. Shoshanah will steal them out of his skull one day, if she ever gets the chance.

She wishes that the girl had less of her. She wishes that her strong shoulders and legs were back inside her. The girl is the only one who will ever receive Shoshanah's gifts. Henry has stolen all her potential. She wanted Jack's children. Not Henry's. Because of him, now no one's.

Her concerns are petty. She has a war to think about, damaged right parietal lobe or no.

2173

She is whole. Outwardly, at least. Iron and wires live inside her now. They glow orange and red when they are cut. But they are not the craft of the machines. Or their makers.

She wants to warn others of what she knows. She wants to tell them of what she sees. But the voice in her ears will not let her. They do not wish to be disturbed. And she does not want to go back in a coma.

At other times, they ignore her. She is allowed to say what she wishes, for they know that no one can understand her. Hannah is such.

Hannah's armor is grey now. With black, white, and yellow trims. She speaks to her when she visits the institution. Shoshanah tries to warn her. She tells her that the creatures do not lie in the Mediterranean sea any longer. That the waters of Jordan no longer fall into their mouths.

But Hannah does not understand. No one does.

It's alright. Shoshanah spends her days in the gym now. She trains. She conditions. She prepares.

When the time comes, she will continue her duty. She will fight to guard humanity. She will fight for Hannah. She won't allow herself to fail.


	3. The Early Years of Cerberus: Bonus Scene

2165 Bonus

Oleg and Shoshanah are honest with each other. They always have been. It is a rarity in their business, a bond brokered by years of trust. One that neither are inclined to break, no matter the circumstances.

It is no surprise to Shoshanah that days after Jack's recruitment, Oleg is standing in a Cerberus safehouse with her, shaking his head with a vehemence that makes Shoshanah believe his beard will fly off at any moment.

"I cannot approve this." Oleg narrows coal black eyes at the daughter of his deceased friend. "Jennifer is a child, Shoshanah. She has no place in this war."

"She is a child with immense power, and she will be swept into this war whether she likes it or not. Better that she start preparing at a young age."

"She had no choice in the matter! Do you wish to portray Cerberus as kidnappers and rogues? As a shadowy force that swoops in and takes children from the loving arms of their own parents? You are making us into boogeymen, Shoshanah. Not champions for humanity."

The general shakes his head. "We must fight with honor, Shoshanah. It is the only thing that separates us from our enemies."

"The only thing that separates us from our enemies is scaly skin, the number of eyes, and hair." Shoshanah shot back. "You have a copy of Machiavelli's finest work on your bedstand, Oleg. Do you seriously believe that war is fought by honorable souls? You know your history. How many Allied soldiers strode right into Germany and raped the women that had nothing to do with the Nazi cause? How could soldiers claiming to fight for Christianity massacre the people of the middle east during the crusades? Do you think the My Lai massacre was the only atrocity during the Vietnam War? People have the nerve to call the American Revolutionary War a gentle one, because of the so-called honor of the troops. Never mind what the Red Coats were doing to the African slaves in the homes they were quartered in. And your own Russian Civil War laid the framework for Stalin to come to power. The first world war was an overdrawn family squabble. Every time America stepped on another country in the latter half of the twentieth century, it was because of money, not ideology. Shanxi was about territory. Need I go on?"

"And it is up to us to be better than that." Oleg's voice is quiet, lecturing. The sort of voice he used on her when she was a child, when he discovered that she had eaten two cookies before her mother could finish dinner. Shoshanah hates that voice. "No child has a place in war."

"Really? I've been training for war since I was five years old, Oleg. You never saw fit to stop it, even though you know that when I was in my martial arts classes, I was learning to break bones, not boards. I learned that fights are won by pressing advantage, and becoming the attacker, not the attacked."

"That was the choice of your parents."

"And it's paid off, hasn't it? I'm alive today." She shakes her head. "Do you think I'd still be breathing if I stopped to consider the feelings of my enemies? If I stopped to think about all the turians I knifed during First Contact, do you think I would have lived to deliver supplies to our starving troops? Do you think I take the time to think about how those yellow animals might feel when I knock their teeth back into their skull every time they raid one of our colonies? Do you think I care about any resentment this little girl might have? None of that matters, so long as she's strong enough to fight what's coming."

"To fight what's coming." Oleg sighs. Shoshanah knows that he has private doubts about Jack's words. "You speak of history, yet you ignore your own people's time-honored skepticism toward new prophets."

Shoshanah is a quiet for a moment, carefully considering her words, before she speaks again. "Jack is the only one doing something. I believe him when he says that there is something out there."

"You love him." Oleg points out. "I am beginning to wonder how much of this fatalistic rhetoric is truly your own belief, or simply a reflection of the honeyed words he's been whispering in your ear since you first stepped into this organization. You already kidnapped a little girl for him. If he asks you to kill her, will you do it?"

It is not Jack's words that ring in her ears, as she considers the question. She remembers her youth, sitting in a classroom. After a routine bomb drill, they return to their history lesson. The teacher shows a vid. It is footage of Elie Weisel. He is standing at a podium inside an open theater, with the tacky Roman pillars the Americans are so fond of, thinking it will make their places of gathering seem more sophisticated. He is an old man. His hair iron grey, his skin like worn leather, his eyes bleary.

But he speaks of Hitler, of listening to the radio, and reading newspapers about his speeches. Of reading Mein Kampf. His words are simple. He explains that when a man gets up and says that he is going to exterminate an entire race, he *means* it. There is conviction in his voice. There is desperation. He wants nothing more than for his words to be heeded.

Those words have always stuck with Shoshanah. The irony of a Nobel Peace Prize winner's words inspiring such conviction in the heart of a fighting soldier is not lost on her. She knows the truth. She knows that she will not be praised as a hero for her actions. She knows that when this strange, foreign presence Jack claims to have a link to makes itself known, the history books will not favor her. She knows that if her people believed in a hell, she would be walking its hallways upon her passing. She knows that she will shame her people. She already has, it is only a matter of time before others find out. She knows that humanity will lose its faith in her one day. She will not do the same to them. She will not be vindicated in the eyes of others. But, at least there will be eyes left to scorn her.

"I would shoot that little girl and a dozen like her if it means that humanity will survive what's coming." Shoshanah's tone is forged from fire and steel. "Wars are won by those willing to do what is necessary, Oleg. You know this. My mother is dead because she obeyed your orders. Honor, strategy, call it whatever you must, you did what was necessary."

That blow hits home. Shoshanah thinks she's won. But then, Oleg looks up at her. His question is simple. "And if Hannah were Jennifer?"

The question is devastating. Shoshanah doesn't have a good answer. She never does.

"She has been showing signs of biotic potential, Shoshanah."

"So she'll just have one more weapon." It is a dodge, and she knows it. He knows it. "She'll have to fight too, when the time comes."

"And will it be her choice?"

"Of course not." Shoshanah sighs, and turns on her heel to leave the room. She is tired of this conversation. "No one ever chooses to be exterminated."


	4. Worst Love Notes Ever

_AM247: And now for something a little less intense. Multiple fills for this one. Quick note on Dick Shepard: He's an OC, the older brother of Femshep, and a freelance mercenary, formerly with the Blue Suns. In truth, he was my first ME2 OC. Confession time: I hated the first Mass Effect. I was bored, unimpressed, and considered it to be totally generic. I originally bought ME2 because it was super cheap, I'd seen the videos of the Kelly and Jacob romances on YouTube, and I figured that my summer would not be complete without creating a troll, renegade Shepard to harass everyone in game. Before you start flinging poo at me, know that I was converted. I got sucked right into the ME2 universe, and I'm glad for it. Still, Dick remained part of my highly crack canon, and will appear as the ManShep in most, if not all, MShep/Miri prompts I have filled, because the bastard just grew on me, much like the game itself. XD So, when you read about Dick and Miri together, semi-serious or crack wise, please remember that he has not left his troll-inspired roots, and that a suspension of disbelief may be necessary at times with some of the scenarios. Which, really shouldn't be hard to accomplish. This is a fanfic, after all. XD_

_Prompt: Would like to see a fill where Shepard, or anyone, really, leaves a love note for his/her LI, and its awful. I mean poorly written, ridiculous, even offensive, and hilarious. Have at it, anons. :D_

**1)**

Crew of the Normandy,

Found receipt for varren treats and Vaseline in mess hall. Implications...disturbing.

Will be running screens for scale itch.

Wishing you all a happy Valentine's Day.

Mordin

**2)**

Dear Shepard,

Why. *Why* did you tell me that it was shaped like a sprocket? You had me terrified for weeks before I went up to your cabin! Everyone on the nerve-stim pro forum trolled me when I asked if they had any recommendations for sprocket-shaped toys with close human resemblance! On the bright side, Miranda has stopped monitoring my extranet feed, and can no longer look me in the eye. But that's not the point!

That was not very nice.

I have a shotgun.

Tali

**3)**

Dick Shepard had several talents. He was handy, good with his history, good with his fists, and an excellent murderer. Sadly, writing love notes was not one of his skills.

Dear Lawson,

If anyone had told me that I'd be stepping into a goddamn flower shop for you when we first met, I'd have reaved them right there, just to put them out of their misery. Don't get me wrong. I thought you were totally hot (still do) when we first met, but listening to you made me wanna break your neck. It was really difficult to reconcile, since now I kind of love hearing you talk. It's weird. But that's over now, since you're a pretty cool guy and all. I like you.

Anyway, I got you flowers. I looked for black ones, but they only come in that color if they're dead, or possibly radioactive. And grown on Tuchanka, and I know you hate that place. I know its your favorite color, but I don't think you'd like dead flowers. Anyway, I got you forget-me-nots, because they kinda look like your eyes. I don't really like them, but I guess they're pretty, and you're pretty, so I thought you'd like them. I would have gotten you gardenias, but they only really come in shrub form, which sucks.

And hey, if you hate them, well...shit. I tried my best, and I'm not going back into that damn shop. That damn asari saleswoman wouldn't stop giggling. Niether would Kasumi when she helped me pick some out. Don't get me wrong, she's a total bro, but she sucks sometimes. (Not like I could take Zaeed, after all. He'd be telling stories for years to come, about how he went to the florist, and he was the only one who made it out, or something.) And I kept knocking my head into the hanging plants on accident. They should hang them higher. I guess if they did that though, they'd have trouble reaching them. I'm pretty tall.

Okay, maybe I'd go in again. Just one or two more times. But only for special occasions. Like your birthday. Kasumi says you're a Capricorn. Does that mean you like sheep? I mean, not to stereotype or anything, but I thought that was more a New Zealand thing, than an Australian thing. People say that shit about Alabamans every time I visit family in Florida, but you're not from there.

Or maybe Valentine's Day, if you celebrate that. I always thought that holiday was stupid, but whatever. It's coming up soon, I think. I'll take you to dinner, if you want.

Dick

P.S. Just checked the date. It's July 18th. Never mind about Valentine's Day.

**4)**

Jack,

You're crazy, bitch. But you fuck so good, I'm on top of it. Scratches all down my back, TIM doesn't know what's goin' on.

Miranda

RE: My last message

Jack,

Please disregard my last message. Shepard found it necessary to hack my computer a few minutes ago. Rest assured, I will be reopening the subject of a control chip the next time I contact the Illusive Man.

Miranda

P.S. That all being said...same time tomorrow evening?

**5)**

Dear David,

I think I might have left some things over at your apartment. You didn't hand the keys over to Shepard, did you? That...that was a joke.

Right?

Kahlee

**6)**

Hey Lawson,

Kasumi is gossiping again. She says that your little sister has a new boyfriend. Danner something.

I say we take him and Oriana out to dinner at that sushi place you like on the Citadel. Soon as he shows up, I'll grin, clap my hand on his shoulder, and tell him, "You look just like the hostage I took when I escaped prison."

You can take it from there.

In your corner, always,  
Dick

**7)**

Jacob,

Shadows engulf me  
Latex, firm muscle beneath  
My hand on your ass

Kasumi


	5. Oriana and Miranda's First Talk, Part 1

_Prompt: So in the game, Miranda tells you about what she and Oriana talked about during their first meeting-colony development, Neilson, her family's surprise, how smart Ori is, etc. However, there's no fiction out there that details the dialogue between the two and their first meeting. I'd like to see their first meeting, dialogue, reactions, and all. :)_

_A/N: Started working on this earlier, but I've run out of steam for now. Any suggestions for topics, beyond what Miranda says they discussed ingame?_

Two people stepped off one of the elevators in Illium's spaceport. Both were human, and tall for their species, one dressed in stiletto heels and a catsuit, the other sporting combat boots and a hardsuit. The man had meadow green eyes, and a tanned face roughened by stubble. The woman had a pale, elegant beauty and eyes with the same greys and blue as storm clouds over the ocean. Both had hair black as the depths of space, though his was short, modeled in a Caesar's cut, and hers was long, brushing just past her shoulders. And while her figure was statuesque, his was all brawn.

Both wore grim expressions, which soon softened at the sight of a young girl with her family, smiling warmly and chatting jovially with the parents.

The man gestured toward the girl with two of his fingers. "Is that her?"

"Yes..." The woman's voice was soft, long-held emotion clear in every breath. "That's her."

She was…Miranda. Aside from the short bob of hair, the heavier application of make-up, and the conspicuously absent emotional problems, she was nearly identical to her sister. Her twin, as it was.

"She's safe…with her family." Miranda murmured softly, looking on at the girl.

"Well?" Dick smiled to her. "Aren't you going to say hello?"

"Of course not. She has a life. A family. I…I would just complicate that for her."

"And you're part of that life and family, last I checked." Dick pointed out, nudging her forward. "Come on. Go talk to her."

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a book, wagging it gently. "I'll wait here. I'm just about to get to the good bits."

Miranda arched a slim, black brow at the sight of the book. "Why do you carry history books when you know full and well that nine times out of ten, we'll be spending the next few hours entrenched in battle?"

"I dunno, I like history, and a good sixty percent or so of my job is just sitting around, watching shit." Dick shrugged, before turning the questions on her. "Why is there a picture of you in Jess's Fornax mag?"

The operative's already alabaster skin turned ghost white at that proclamation. "How did that get in the public sphere? The Illusive Man assured me that no one would ever see that!"

"Woah! Lawson, I just made that up." A smirk crossed his face. "Something you wanna talk about?"

"It's none of your damned business."

"At least until Eclipse mercs get involved, and you need a bailout."

The look Miranda gave him could have punched a hole straight through his skull, but he paid no heed. "Look, we went to all this trouble to rescue her. What's the harm in seeing her now? Don't tell me you're gonna get all chickenshit on me when we just got here."

"It's not about any fear on my part, it's about what's best for her." Miranda pointed out, exasperation lining her features. "As I said, I would only complicate things."

"You know, I took off too when I was in my teens. I missed a lot of Jess's life during that period. I wasn't there to help her adjust when our godmother, Hannah, adopted her. I never got to help her with her math homework—though, granted, she's probably better off because of it. I wasn't there to see her prom, or the first time she stepped on a spaceship. I missed a lot of things I wish I hadn't, and that I can't get back."

He shook his head. "But you know what the worst was? Coming back from a two year job and learning that she died, alone, adrift in space. That she suffocated to death, and I wasn't there to help. To let her know it would be okay. To tell her how much I loved her, that even if I wasn't always around, I would always be there when she needed it. And I failed. I wasn't even around, or aware, when Jess had a funeral. I wasn't there to wish her off, or to hold our grandma's hand when she cried. Or Hannah's. I wasn't there when I should have been."

"And you gave her back to me, Lawson." He murmured gently, his deep voice rolling like thunder in the distance. "You gave me another chance to tell her how much I cared, to be around this time, and do everything I can to help her get through this. I owe you, I'd give you, *everything* for that."

A sigh left him. "And I think that everything dear to you rests in the heart of that girl over there. And I think that if you leave now, you'll regret it."

He shot her a crooked grin. "So if you walk out of this place today without talking to your sister, I'll never forgive myself."

Miranda mulled over his words for a long moment, before scowling at the man in question. "You can be remarkably pushy at times, are you aware of that?"

"Yeah. Comes with being an older sibling. You can learn all about that today, if you want." Dick chuckled, taking a seat on a nearby bench, and opening up his book. "I've said what I need to. And hey, big words or not, this is your deal. I'll support you, whatever you choose. Your call, Lawson."

Miranda was quiet for a long moment, looking toward the girl in question.

She was Miranda Lawson. She had foiled the richest man in the galaxy time and again. She was heiress to the organization that would save and preserve humanity's legacy. She had mastered death through science.

And yet…her legs went leaden at the prospect of seeing this young woman. The last time she had felt like this, like her muscled had softened to mush, and her heart had cracked into a thousand pieces inside her chest, that young woman had been a little girl, and she was hardly more than one herself.

How very strange that when seeing Oriana again, she felt the exact same way she had when she had given her away.

This girl was priceless beyond diamonds, beyond anything her father had stored amongst his wealth and assets, and yet…it hurt worse than any wound she had ever received on the battlefield to look upon her now.

What would she think? Would she be shocked? Would she hate Miranda? Would she feel scorned, betrayed? Thinking that Miranda had abandoned her, thought nothing of her? Would she think Miranda was no better than her father? Would she reject her, claiming her to be little more than a self-righteous thief, as Niket had? Would she even believe that they were related?

The possibilities were so immense, that even her practiced, intelligent mind was strained to consider them all. And she had certainly tried before, in her spare time, to picture this event. She certainly never felt so nervous during those times, locked safely in her office, away from prying eyes. Away from the very real possibility that the sister she loved, despite all odds, despite the immeasurable possibility that Miranda could have become as cold and unfeeling as her own father, yet managed to love a young woman she had never even spoken to, would want nothing to do with her.

Still, she clenched her fist, the press of leather and fingernails reminding her that she was there, that this was not a dream, or some flight of fancy stolen in some private moment of leisure. That if she did not walk towards her now, she may never have the courage to do so again.

Miranda Lawson was not a little girl anymore. She didn't allow fear to dictate her actions, and she would certainly not begin that practice again.

Steeling herself, she walked forward, heels clicking gently against the tile of the spaceport floor.

Oriana caught sight of her first, her gaze lingering upon high cheekbones and blue eyes, identical to her own. She'd worn a smile before. It dropped when Miranda approached.

Please, please understand.

"Oriana?"

"That's me." The woman cocked her head to the side, peering at Miranda. "How do you know my name?"

"I suppose I should introduce myself." Yes, that was the right course. "My name is Miranda Lawson. I.."

I love you. I'm so glad to see you. I'm glad you're alright. You're so grown up now. I can't believe I missed all those years. Please understand.

"I'm your sister. Biologically."

That bit of science at the end just slipped out. A comfortable topic for an awkward situation.

"What?!" Oriana's mother's dark eyes went wide as planets when she heard Miranda's proclamation. "I didn't know about this!"

"Neither did. No one ever mentioned it when we adopted you, sweetheart." Oriana's father assured his daughter.

"I can assure you, it's true." Miranda informed the man, inwardly cringing at herself. Why, of all times, did she have to sound so clinical? So precise? She would sold any fraction of her perfect genes for even an ounce of Jess Shepard's natural warmth that day.

Oriana looked at Miranda for a long moment, her gaze steady, calculating, without being threatening. The look of a scientist observing a new species, not a conqueror looking to pillage a civilization, or a child ready to rip the wings off some unlucky insect.

And then, she smiled. And that smile became a grin. And when she spoke, it was every bit as wonderful as any of Neilson's symphonies.

"Jim Lewis and Jim Springer, much?" She noted with a chuckle, her voice distinctly Australian, but rougher, common. Nothing like Miranda's precise, aristocratic enunciation.

Henry Lawson and his ridiculous standards be damned. This girl was perfect in a way that education and breeding could not touch.

"A little like that, I suppose." Miranda chuckled as well.

"Mum, Dad," Oriana smiled to her parents. "Do you think Miranda and I could have some time alone to speak to each other?"

Both parents looked at each other for a moment, their expressions worrisome. But they soon softened, and nodded.

"Sure, sweetheart."

"Yes. We'll be right over there if you need anything."

As the couple gathered their luggage, and went to sit on a nearby bench, still trying to soak in all that was happening, Oriana led Miranda to the nearby café, the two of them taking seats at a small table.

"So what now? We start braiding each other's hair and talking about boys? I have a copy of Fleet and Flotilla on my omnitool that we could watch."

Miranda offered her sister a puzzled expression, and Oriana laughed, a teasing glint in her pale blue eyes. "Oh, relax, sis! I'm just teasing!"

Sis. Three letters. A palindrome. It was the best word in the world.

"Right." Miranda offered Oriana an awkward smile, and folded her hands in her lap, straightening her back. "I suppose you have some questions."

"Oh, just a few million." The young woman grinned at her older sister. "I guess the first one is…why were we separated? Was it just orphanage policy, or something like that?"

"Something like that." Miranda echoed, causing Oriana to make a face.

"You're hiding something." She declared with artless precision. "This is all really sudden isn't it? The move, I mean. Mom just got laid-off, and then this great new job shows up out of nowhere. We have to leave Illium, sure, but that's not a problem. I'm about to go off to college anyway. But then…there are gunshots at the spaceport. Sure, the announcements said it was just some engine trouble with some of the planes, but that's pretty rare these days. Especially with multiple ships at once. Those gunshots…did you have something to do with them, Miranda?"

Before Miranda could respond, Oriana's gaze leveled upon Dick, watching as he pretended to read his book in the distance, the light green hue of his stare carefully surveying the environment for any further threats. "That man you were talking to earlier…he's a biotic, isn't he? He's been reaching up and fiddling with the back of his neck for the past few minutes. He's not scratching, or rubbing though. His tendons, they're flexing like he's grabbing something. Probably his amp. He probably overheated it fighting in the past hour or so. He must have been fighting hard for something."

She cocked her head at her sister. "Does that have anything to do with it? Human biotics? Were you and that man part of all the weird stuff going on with Conatix and Jump Zero some years back?"

Oriana had walked herself right into a lie. It would be a simple matter to spin some falsehood about Conatix, about Jump Zero, and the matter of human biotics. She could have her contacts support the story, put up extranet sites, bribe information brokers, and so on.

And yet…she didn't want to. Hiding the truth was one thing, but to outright lie to her little sister…she couldn't. She could no more bring herself to lie than she could grow a sixth toe on her right foot in the space of thirty seconds.

"No, Conatix has nothing to do with it. It's complicated, Oriana." A sigh escaped her, and she brought her fingers to her forehead, as if to ward away a fast approaching headache. "It's a tricky topic. Can we save it for another day, please?"

"Alright." Oriana sighed. "Can you at least tell me who it is I need to be watching out for?"

Clever girl.

"Our father."

"And he is…?"

"Henry Lawson."

The girl's eyes went wide. "The gazillionaire? Seriously?"

"I hardly think his profits are in the 'gazillions', Oriana-"

"-Ori."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ori." She offered up a disarming grin. "We're sisters. We should have nicknames. You can call me Ori. I'll call you 'Randa'. Would you like that?"

More than the Illusive Man's approval. More than the uncontested superiority of the human race. More than her father's death from a sudden heart attack. More than a successful suicide mission, as paradoxical as it sounded.

"I'd like that very much."

"Good!" Oriana exclaimed, her voice laden with cheer. "I get it, Randa. This is tricky territory. The kind you're not ready to talk about. And that's alright. We can find something else to discuss."

"Alright then." For the first time in years, Miranda's mind drew a blank. There were questions everywhere, but they swam through her head like a school of tuna, too quick, and too slippery, to simply grasp. "What do you want to know?"

"Oh, just everything." Oriana laughed, sitting back comfortably in her chair.


	6. Dick Shepard Proposes to Miranda

_Prompt: Dick Shepard proposes to Miranda._

The first time Dick Shepard opted to propose to Miranda Lawson, he took the traditional route. Hot shower, clean shave, not too much cologne, freshly polished shoes, ironed slacks, and a white button up and jacket. He even considered combing his Caesar cut into something more manageable.

Her favorite sushi place on the Citadel had reopened, and Dick had been quick to make reservations. At least…as soon as he ensured that his sister, Commander Jessa Shepard, Destroyer of Marine Worlds, was quarantined in her captain's cabin with a pint of cake batter ice cream, a screening of Fleet and Flotilla, and Kaidan. Beyond that, he didn't want to know the details. Christ though, what if she got loose, and came down on the restaurant like the Collector ship at Horizon? Chaos, murder, mayhem. All her calling cards. Come to think of it, when did she develop this penchant for fishy murder? She was so good at keeping the stray cats and dogs she'd collected as a child alive. And it wasn't like she'd leapt onto the stage and thrown poisoned fish at Shamu XI the last time he'd taken her to SeaWorld, when she was a child. Where did this all come—

Wait. Something was missing.

Approximately two minutes and forty-seven seconds later, Dick Shepard's room looked like a warzone. Sheets were ripped, drawers yanked open, the carpet torn, holes decorated the ceiling, and yet…he still couldn't find the ring.

Where the hell had it gone?! He'd purchased it a week ago, and it had been burning a hole in his pocket ever since! It was all he thought about, as he fretted over how to propose to Miranda. She would only accept the best. It had to be special. It would be special, because he loved her, damn it, and—

The gym!

But alas, it was nowhere to be found.

The captain's cabin?

A few seconds after launching into Jess's quarters, three sets of shrieks followed, and Dick immediately rushed out, a horrified expression on his face.

What the hell was wrong with her and Kaidan? Sweet Jesus, he was never going to get that image out of his mind.

Okay. Okay. Think. Where else could it be?

The kitchen! He'd been making potatoes au gratin earlier, and a kale salad, among other dishes, for lunch.

But when he burst into the kitchen, he breathed a sigh of relief, seeing a tiny, gleaming jewel peeking out from the surface of the potatoes.

Wait. He'd put the potatoes in the refrigerator. Why were they on the table now?

And right on cue, Grunt tread back into the kitchen, shoving his fingers right into the dish, and scooping through layers of gruyere and cheddar cheese, mashing the substance, and the ring, right between his teeth.

"GRUNT!" Dick howled, racing forward to tackle the krogan, and bringing him to the ground, shaking him by the shoulders. "Give it back, you bastard! Give me back the ring!"

Grunt merely snorted, unimpressed by his battlemaster's brother's rage, and roughly shoving him aside, getting back to his feet, but not before letting out a deep, wicked little laugh.

"Oh. You'll get it back."

No power in the universe would make Dick tell Miranda or anyone else about the effort he put into retrieving the ring in the subsequent hours.

-.-.-.-.-

The second time Dick attempted to propose, the interlude was interrupted by an array of gunfire. Just as he'd clasped down on the highly bleached and disinfected ring in his pocket, smiling to Miranda over a bottle of asari wine, the bottle had shattered into a thousand pieces, as Eclipse mercs surrounded them.

Taking them out was simple enough, and they had dispatched said enemies before a traumatized clerk could even think to drop the check he'd been delivering to their table.

Dick still ended up in the hospital that evening. It wasn't from wounds inflicted by a gun, a knife, or even fists. Instead, as he and Miranda approached a crosswalk, he'd smiled, and taken off his jacket, slipping it over her shoulders, when he saw goosebumps forming over her alabaster skin.

She'd smiled softly at him, but her brow soon puckered into a confused line, as she felt something hard graze her hip. Reaching into the pocket, and feeling something velvety soft, and square press against her fingers, she'd asked, "Dick…is this-"

She didn't have time to finish her question, as a speeding aircar, driven by Elias Kelham, smashed into the man.

While Kelham may have had a habit of running over pedestrians, he certainly hadn't been expecting to be lifted out of his car, and slammed into the harsh concrete of the pavement by an infuriated Australian woman, who soon left him to bleed while trying to patch up the man she did care for.

Unfortunately, when Dick woke up in a hospital bed, he realized that it might not have been entirely Kelham's fault. He had been standing in the street, about three feet away from the curb, when Kelham struck him.

The merc considered that it was…not his finest moment. But in retrospect, his third attempt at proposing a few weeks later was perhaps the dumbest thing he'd ever done.

-.-.-.-.-

In those next few weeks, he and his love had found themselves having sex in her office, clothes strewn about haphazardly as Miranda braced herself against the desk, nails digging into the hard into the polished surface, as Dick's hands roamed over her breasts, and dipped low toward the dark triangle between her thighs, slipping past heated, wet silk to find the little pearl in her flesh that throbbed against his fingers with every brush of callused digits. She was close. Just a few more thrusts, a few more swipes of his fingers, and a kiss to that spot right below her right ear, and she'd come completely undone.

And for some inexplicable reason, Dick thought it was a good idea to reach for the pants Miranda had ripped off him some time ago, and slip his fingers into the pocket, grasping the tiny black box, and bringing it around their conjoined bodies, placing it on the desk where Miranda could see.

He couldn't see her facial expression. Which was a shame, as it might have warned him of the elbow that Miranda suddenly lifted backward and slammed under his chin, forcing him to dislodge.

"Fuck!" Dick cursed as pain shot through his jaw, glaring at Miranda as she turned to glower at him. "What was that for?!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" She shouted right back. "Why would you think this was an appropriate time to propose!"

"Because…because this is a happy time!" He blustered. "I mean…I thought that if I proposed right as you were about to finish, you'd associate all those good feelings with the ring. And that way, if you started to get nervous about getting married, you could just look at the ring, and feel better. You know, like how Jack gets all these warm fuzzies when she murders people."

He made a face. "It's called classical conditioning, Lawson. My cousin, Sarisha, is a shrink. She told me about it. Look it up."

"Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"Get out."

-.-.-.-.-

The fourth time, he had the sense to take a gentler approach.

Dick had a surprisingly good grasp of tactics. Years on a football field, and later the scenes of battle, had given him an understanding of the subtlties of strategy, which he occasionally was clever enough to apply to other people. For instance, Miranda used a trick play on him every time he instituted cuddling after sex. Her method was to say that she didn't want to cuddle, while secretly wanting to, then quietly getting upset if Dick didn't hold her afterward, or clamming up if Dick held her a little too closely. The trick was to find a good medium, and preserve her ego.

So the merc ignored her groans of distaste, and responded to her tart remarks about him being too clingy with a playful smile, or the simple phrase, "Shut up" while pulling her against him. He was an excellent cuddler, dammit. He had been gifted with big, muscular arms, and a large hairy chest, and he never forgot to apply deodorant. Maybe one day she would stop protesting, but in the meantime, he was happy to pretend that he was clingy.

The two of them lay in comfortable silence, her fingers spread over his chest, while her head rested in the crook of his shoulder, one hand slipping over her waist, while the other reached toward the bedside table, taking care not to jostle her, or alert her.

"Lawson." He murmured.

She didn't repond. And when he moved a soft lock of black hair away from her eyes, he saw that she was fast asleep. The sort of deep, dreamless slumber born of exhaustion, of safety, and trust. The sort that the restless woman hardly ever had.

He wasn't cruel enough to disturb her. He could wait another time, he decided, placing the tiny velvet box back into the drawer beside the bed, then curling up with the woman beside him, falling into his own hazy cloud of restfulness.

-.-.-.-.-

The fifth time, fire lit up the sky as the Catalyst merged with the Crucible, and Dick Shepard and his sister raced to escape the resulting explosion. Heat washed over their backs as they slammed into the ground, both bruised and battered, exhaustion sinking deep into the marrow of their bones.

Dick couldn't help a smile as he looked at Jess's bloodied face, at the green eyes that mirrored his own, looking rapidly at their surroundings, watching as husks suddenly stopped in their tracks, and fell to the ground.

A flicket of unfamiliar green light lit up one of the veins traveling near Jess's left eye, but for some reason, it was more comforting, than it was frightening. It was a sign that something new would happen, something good. And most importantly, everything would be okay. His sister was safe.

Slowly, he reached out, and took her hand in his, grasping it firmly, and giving a silent affirmation that he was there, he was okay, and he was looking after her, as best he could, even if his mouth couldn't seem to move well enough to form the words.

And then, there was a flash of two familiar sets of armor. One bulky, Alliance blue, and the other hexagonal and white.

Dick had a plan for what to do after this war ended. He was going to take Miranda into his arms and kiss her like a sailor celebrating the end of World War II. And then he was going to get down on his knees, and ask her to marry him, right in the middle of the high of the battle won, right in the blackened and charred ground of a warzone. Chaos all around them, except for this one, perfect moment.

It was a great idea…except for the agonizing pain in his legs. Were they broken? Probably. Shit. Now that he thought about it, everything had a fuzzy edge to it. Normally, when Dick looked around, his vision was crystal clear. Except for those weird moments, when he started to get annoyed, and he swore he could see a little red star at the edge of his vision. He usually did something a little socially unacceptable after that.

But there was no red star at the edge of his vision. Instead, there was a flash of worried blue eyes, and the feel of black gloved fingers on his face, and then his shoulders.

And to his deep chagrin, Dick Shepard realized that he was being lifted right onto Miranda Lawson's shoulders, like the prince and whats-her-face from that stupid 'Ever After' movie Jess liked so well. Like Kaidan had been lifted onto Jess's own shoulders after Virmire.

Yes, Miranda had him in a fireman's carry, and was trudging across the battlefield toward a medical tent, not caring one bit about the manner in which she was manhandling him. Proposal, his ass. He'd never been so grateful to fall unconscious in the next few seconds.

-.-.-.-.-

The sixth time, things were simpler. Earth had been rebuilt. He and Miranda shared a home together, the two of them able to look out the window toward the ocean, or watch as Oriana stepped out of the car, and raced up to her room to study for that semester's final. The sun beat down on the slowly healing earth, and Dick and Miranda found themselves sitting together out on the beach one afternoon, watching the sun slowly disappear beneath the horizon as dusk rolled in.

There were no reapers, no cars, no worries, in that moment. There was only the two of them, their shoes discarded, their pants rolled up to their knees, and the gentle movement of waves upon the shore as the two of them sat, her head leaning against his shoulder, and his arm around her waist.

And when he produced a ring furnished from polished silver, a diamond at the center paired with two glittering sapphires, Miranda had simply smiled, and slipped her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and brought him in close for a kiss.

"Yes."


	7. Morinth's Apartment Stupid Shepard

_Prompt: Despite being the hero of the galaxy, Shepard is the dumbest person to have ever lived. Like, Peter Griffon/Homer Simpson/Andy Dwyer/Luanne Platter levels of adorable idiocy. Despite this, he/she is wildly successful, much to the astonishment of his/her comrades. Go nuts, anons._

"Take a seat." There was something wicked in Morinth's smile as she patted the space next to her on the couch.

Dick Shepard frowned for a moment, then obeyed, placing his hands over his knees, and struggling not to make a face as Morinth leaned in close.

"I love clubs." She purred, ghosting her fingers over the black strands of his Caesar cut. "People, movement, heat. I can still hear the bass, like the drums of a great hunt, out for your blood."

Christ, this was awkward. Maybe he could just pretend that she was Miranda. With blue skin. And no hair. Okay, scratch that last part. That's weird. But the blue skin…maybe he could rig her shower to—

Wait. What was that on the wall?

"But here, it's muted, and you're safe. Is that what you want, Dick?"

There were swords on the wall! Holy shit, that was so fucking cool! He was totally stealing them after this. Well, looting, since the owner would be dead soon enough. They were in perfect shape, too. All polished, and gleaming, and sharp.

"Well, we're never safe." Morinth finally answered, taking his silence for stoicism. "I've never understood the fascination with safety. Some of us choose differently."

He and Jess used to have sword fights all the time when they were kids. Dick had figured out how to rig duct tape and piping to create fake swords, and they had beaten the shit out of each other. It was awesome. But this…this would be so much better. Not with Jess. She might get hurt, or fuck up some stuff in her captain's cabin. Or the hamster might get hurt. What was his name? Boo. Weird. But his sister was always doing weird shit. Her idea of dancing proved that.

"Independence over submission. I think we share that, you and I."

He and Grunt could mess around the swords. Dick could heal himself in record time, thanks to the reave, and Grunt was built like a tank. They could run around the shuttle, and act out the scene from The Princess Bride. And they could decorate their swords. Grunt could paint a shark on the side of his—

Wait. He wanted a shark.

"Dick?"

Grunt could have the shark, he guessed. The kid was nuts about them these days. And maybe…a t-Rex? Nah. A dragon? Too stereotypical.

"Dick…are you listening to me?"

Naked Lawson?

Jackpot. She probably wouldn't like that very much, though.

Worth it.

"Seriously, Dick?"

He could probably commission that turian on the citadel to paint one. He sold guns. Maybe he could paint too. That was sound logic.

"Dick!" Morinth finally snarled, turning his head to face hers. "Have you been listening to me at all?"

"Swords." Dick blurted out, before remembering himself, "Yeah…You…uh…you look really pretty. Did you do something with your scalp? It's quite…uh…fetching."

"Just forget it." Morinth rolled her eyes, black soon spreading from pupils to whites. "I'm going to enjoy devouring you."

As Dick stared into the dark pits of her eyes, the ardat-yakshi whispered, "Look into my eyes, and tell me you want me. Tell me that you'd kill for me. Anything I want."

The two of them stared at each other for a long minute, before Dick cleared his throat in an awkward fashion.

"Uh…yeah. Sorry. Is there something you want me to do? Because to be honest, I never really saw the appeal of eye-sex." He shrugged. "I mean, its all well and good if you're a blonde sheriff visiting the mayor of Storybrooke, but it just never really did it for-"

"What?" Morinth hissed in surprise, grabbing Dick by the ears, and staring at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"I just said its not for everyone!" The mercenary replied hotly, glaring at the asari. "No need to get judgmental."

Morinth abruptly turned his head, and put his ear to hers—or what substituted for it, listening.

There was an echo in Dick Shepard's skull, similar to the sound of ocean waves one experienced when listening to a sea shell.

"You can't be serious." The ardat-yakshi groaned. "I don't think I've ever met a functioning beyond the higher forms of plantlife with neurological activity this low."

"Oh." Dick brightened at the remark. "Thank you."

"That's not a compliment."

But before Dick could retort, the door was thrown open. Samara marched in, and confronted Morinth. Thankfully, the mercenary's attention remained on the matter at hand, and he was able to wrest the ardat-yakshi's hands behind her back, stopping her from throwing a bolt of biotic power that would have shocked Samara's system, and left her vulnerable to further attack.

It wasn't until the justicar's fingers squeezed down on Morinth's throat, crushing her windpipe, that the merc spoke again, his tone surprisingly compassionate.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" He knew about death in the family. He knew better than to ask if she was okay.

"I would very much like to return to the Normandy." Samara whispered, her voice a shadow of the usual placid calm she carried herself with.

"Alright." Dick started to walk out of the room, when his gaze fell upon the swords again.

"Samara?"

"Yes?"

"Does your code say anything about taking those swords out of here?"

"It's frowned upon." Samara sighed. "But remember, I am sworn to follow the commander's code while I am present on the Normandy."

"Well, Jess has an open door policy about looting." Dick reasoned, prying the swords off the wall, and falling into step next to Samara.

"You understand that I may have to kill you after I am released from Jessa's service?" The justicar queried, her tone something close to dubious.

Dick stared down at the swords, contemplating the steel weapons for a long moment.

"Worth it."


	8. Dense

_Prompt: Much to Miranda's disapproval, it seems like every female Shepard helps out is flirting with him. Back on the Normandy she decides to give him a reminder of her claim._  
_Bonus for any damage done to the Captain's quarters, especially if Shep has to point it out to Miri afterwards._

Though the Alliance had thoroughly searched the Normandy SR2 when it was first docked in their bays, and renovated to sport their colors and creed, they missed a significant number of bugs.

And once she had rerouted access away from the Cerberus network, Miranda Lawson had access to the feed.

And to her surprise, it wasn't the warmth of love and joy that massed inside her heart when she first laid eyes on her boyfriend.

It was the heat of seething jealousy.

The first scene was of Tali'Zorah. While she had never showed any attraction toward Commander Jessa Shepard, her interest immediately peaked when she heard that the commander's brother, Dick, would be joining them on their mission.

"The most intimate thing we can do with another quarian is link our suit environments. We get sick at first, but then we adapt. It's our most important gesture of trust, acceptance. I haven't trusted anyone enough for that, though. Except…well, no quarians. You know what I mean."

"I hear you." Dick nodded. "You know, I hear that Dr. T'Soni spent a lot of time in a Prothean bubble. Maybe she still has it. That way, your suit won't be the only thing keeping the germs away. You'll have a backup. And, if she doesn't have it, maybe Jess will have another beacon seizure, and we can get blueprints. I might be able to construct something with enough duct tape and bubble wrap. Not sure it'll be sterile though."

"What? That's not at all what I was…"

Those glowing eyes dimmed behind the face mask, and Tali shook her head at Dick. "Never mind."

-.-.-.-.-

The next scene was of Kelly Chambers, some months before the events of Arahtot.

"So…maybe you could come by my room later, and help me out with a little problem?" Kelly murmured demurely to Dick.

"Maybe. What's the problem?"

"Oh, I'd really need to show you."

"We're about to dock on the Citadel though. If I need spare tools or parts or something, I may need to get them while I'm there." Dick remarked practically, before catching sight of his sister, "Hey, Jess, any chance we could stop by the shopping district on the Citadel? Kelly says she has a little problem in her quarters, that she needs my help with."

He turned to the incredibly embarrassed yeoman, and asked, "Is it a plumbing problem? Is something wrong with the pipes?"

"Uhm…you could say that." The yeoman squeaked out, her face impossibly red.

"Right. I need to take a look at your pipes beforehand, to get an assessment of size, and what wrench I should bring. Is it a clog? Or is there a leak?"

Hearing Jessa snort with laughter, Dick made a face. "This is serious, Jessa. Depending on what's in Kelly's pipes, the problem could spread to the rest of the crew."

"Should hope not." Mordin commented as he passed by. "Only just got rid of scale-itch prevalent amongst crew. Only transmitted through varren vectors. Implications…unpleasant."

Kelly had never been more mortified in her life, and covered her steaming red face, only confusing Dick more.

"Am I missing something?" The merc scowled at Jessa, crossing his arms. "I'm glad you think the maintenance of Kelly's pipes is so damn funny. See if I come running when your pipes start acting up, Jess."

"If those pipes start acting up I expect you to be far far far away. Kaidan would be the only one I'd call for that" Jess let out a little laugh, as Dick only seemed more confused. "Aw, don't worry about it, Dick. You just keep being you."

-.-.-.-.-

The next set of footage was of Dick and Jack.

"Hey, Dick, does the name live up to the meaning?" Jack smirked, leaning forward on her knees as she watched the man pass through the bowels of the engineering room.

"Well, I'm named after my grandfather, Richard. He's a pretty great guy, I hope I end up like him."

Jack stared at the man for a long moment. "Seriously? Dick?"

"Yes."

"I was talking about your penis."

"What? Oh! Right." Dick shrugged. "It's actually pretty average. I mean, it's not like a piece of silly string or anything, but its not like I can push doorbells from across the block, either. Why do you ask?"

"Shit, never mind. What does Lawson see in you?" Curling her upper lip in a nasty sneer, Jack shook her head as she walked off. "Best smarts genes can squeeze out, and she still ends up with this dense motherfucker. Who's the real dumbass in their relationship?"

"Probably me." Dick replied automatically, before blinking. "Wait…what was the question?"

-.-.-.-.-

Another scene appeared, and it was Kelly Chambers once again.

The moment Dick walked into the room, he saw that the yeoman had cleared out the crew quarters, and was lying on top of the table that Rolston and Patel usually spoke at, dressed in nothing more than a burgundy robe, and surrounded by glittering candles.

"Dick…I'm so glad you could join me." Kelly smirked, and dipped her shoulder, satin material falling away to reveal creamy skin, while her fingers loosened the knot at her waist.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to walk in on you getting undressed." Dick declared as the yeoman shrugged off her robe, clearing his throat in an awkward manner, and turning on his heel, a heated blush staining his cheeks as he headed out the door, leaving Kelly nothing short of dumbfounded.

The next scene was of Samara, sighing as she looked toward Dick. "I would never dreamed that someone so young could touch me. But you must put the thought from your mind. It can never be."

"You heard me talking to Joker?" Dick let out a sigh of his own. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. It's just…he started talking about asari tentacles, and whether or not they move. And you know…he's onto something. I don't know if they move either. And once he started talking about it, I just couldn't get it out of my head. I mean, every time I saw you…I almost grabbed them a few times, but I stopped myself. I didn't know you'd heard. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, I was just curious."

Samara looked at him for a long moment, her face carefully impassive. "That is a thought you should put out of your mind as well."

"Yeah. Wait…what else were you talking about?"

-.-.-.-.-

Kelly Chambers made her final appearance in the following scene. It was only a few days after Arahtot, when the mercenary had accompanied his sister to Batarian space. Dick was haggard and short of temper after the ugly turn of events, but Kelly Chambers had invited her up to the Captain's quarters, assuring him that Jess would be occupied, and absent.

When Dick walked into the room, he saw Kelly about to step into the closet, smiling as he approached. "Dick! I'm so glad you could make it. Take a seat. I'll only take a moment to slip into something more comfortable."

"Okay." Scratching the back of his head, Dick took a seat on the nearby couch.

Kelly emerged a moment later, dressed in an outfit that would have been right at home on any of the dancers in Afterlife.

She smiled at Dick, and began to dance, undulating against the steel walls of the captain's quarters.

But Dick look nothing but chagrined, and soon shook his head, that distaste soon turning to outrage, when he growled, "What the hell, Chambers? 'I'll slip into something more comfortable'? How the hell is that more comfortable? You were in cargo pants and t-shirt before."

Kelly stopped mid-grind, and stared at the man. "Dick…seriously? You can't really think-"

"—No. I don't want to hear it. I've had enough bullshit over the past few days as it is. Put your damn pants and shirt back on, and stop messing around, dammit. I'm tired of being lied to."

Dick shook his head as he walked out, muttering under his breath, "More comfortable, my ass. Weirdest symptom of post-Collector PTSD I've ever seen, shit."

-.-.-.-.-

And once the Normandy was retrofitted, it didn't stop there.

The first culprit was Samantha Traynor. After a few talks with Dick, the woman found herself biting down on her lower lip, as she opened an awkward line of conversation.

"I realize that we've been spending quite a bit of time together, Dick. Talking and such. It's been fun, but…I hope you aren't reading into this. I prefer women."

"I like women too." Dick replied with an amiable grin.

"Yes, I understand, but I'm worried you're looking the wrong place."

"That's what I think too sometimes." Dick sighed. "You know, the last time we met up on the Citadel, she told me to meet her in the apartments, out in the wards. She didn't give me a number though. I ended up just breaking in a few places on accident. The first place was empty, the second had a sleeping batarian on the couch, and the third had a volus fucking a hanar right on the kitchen counter. You don't wanna know how that works. They were into it, though. Didn't even notice when I took their wallets. Anyway, I found her after breaking into a few more places, and…well…things got pretty good after that. Would have been nice if she'd given me a number, though."

Traynor stared at him for a long moment. "What are you talking about?"

Dick cast her a look that was equally perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

-.-.-.-.-

The next scene was of Liara, the young scientist smiling as Dick stepped into her office.

"Dick, I…I can't do this." A sigh escaped her. "You…you're just not your sister."

"No, she's much better at keeping her beard in check."

"What? Oh…I thought that only the males of your species cultivated facial hair."

"Nah. Some women just produce a little extra up top. Jess has been stealing my good razors since she was ten. Took Kaidan a little while to get used to it, but now, he's pretty set with hairy women. They don't shake off the rain as well, but they're certainly warmer."

Liara peered at him for a long moment. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"

"Oh, absolutely." The man chuckled. "No offense, but you're a little gullible at times, Dr. T'Soni."

Liara made a face at the man. "You should talk."

"Ha! Wait…what?"

-.-.-.-.-

Diana Allers was the next woman to try her luck.

"There you go, Allers." He placed the ziti dish in front of her. "Try it! Come on, you didn't believe me when I said I could cook!"

"Wow." The news reporter's eyes went wide as she took a bite. "Who knew the commander's brother was a cook too? Not just an unstoppable death machine, huh?"

"Not all the time."

"Ha." Allers offered him a playful smile. "Careful, Mr. Shepard, you keep feeding me bits like this and I might just follow you home."

"You don't need to come to my quarters. I'm usually around. I can make you something if you're hungry. Besides, there's no stove in my room. That would be silly." Dick remarked practically, her flirtatious comments going right over his head.

"No, that's not what I…you know, never mind."

-.-.-.-.-

Once the feed had ended, Miranda knew it was time to take measures to ensure that no ideas penetrated the overwhelming density of Dick's mind.

So, a few days later, Dick walked his room of the apartment Jess had recently acquired from Admiral Anderson, and found none other than Miranda Lawson, stretched out on the bed and wearing nothing but the soft glow of candlelight.

"Shit. You need to warn me if you're planning on getting naked with your candles, Lawson. Otherwise, I'll just walk right in. Speaking of which, do you think you could give me an actual apartment number the next time you-"

Miranda paid no heed to his words, and stood right up, slinking over and wrapping her arms around his thick neck, as she brushed her lips against his own in an impassioned, possessive kiss.

"Oh! Well…why didn't you just say so?" Dick chuckled, tucking his arms around her waist and leaning down to kiss her thoroughly.


	9. Characters Can Only Speak in Song Lyrics

_Prompt: Want to see fills of character dialog. Thing is, they can only speak in song lyrics. Description is fine, but everything that comes from their mouth-song lyric. Drabbles, whole fills, etc. This has the potential to get ridiculous. :D_

#1

"I sense there's something in the wind, that feels like tragedy at hand." Kaidan shook his head, looking toward the commander. "And though I tried to stand by him, can't shake this feeling that I have."

Ignoring Kaidan's sudden display of melodrama, EDI smiled toward Joker, "Do you wanna date my avatar?"

Joker chuckled. "You've already won me over, in spite of me."

On the other side of the ship, Vega winked at Traynor. "Gotta love the sweet taste of India."

"I kissed a girl and I liked it." Traynor informed him, cutting off any romantic intent right then and there.

#2

Shepard shook her head as she got off the commlink with the Illusive man. "No light, no light, in your bright blue eyes."

Jack nodded eagerly as she stepped by. "Let's start a riot."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Ain't nobody got time for that."

Miranda soon strolled by, flipping open a pocket vanity, and sighing as she looked into it, taking a moment to adjust her hair. "Perfect isn't easy, but its me. Not for my vanity, but for humanity."

Jack sneered in response, and spat sarcastically, "An Aphrodite for mortal souls."

"All eyes on me when I walk in. Don't hate me because I'm beautiful." Miranda shrugged.

Jack snorted. "You're the devil in disguise."

The operative snapped the mirror shut, and narrowed her eyes at Jack. "What is this feeling? Loathing. Unadulterated loathing."

Jack smirked. "You'd look so much cuter with something in your mouth."

"Bitch, you ain't no barbie."

"How your waist anorexic when your ass look colossal?"

"Feeling like a freak on a leash?"

The biotic clenched her fist. "Think I'm gonna take you outside, and show you crazy."

"Hit me with your best shot."

"Putting out fire with gasoline?" Shepard asked in a warning voice, as she stepped back into the room.

"She was a sour girl the day that you met her."

"Put your pom poms down. Getting everyone fired up." Shepard interrupted, shaking her head at Miranda.

Jack smirked, but Shepard shook her head at her as well. "Enjoy the silence."

"Come on, now, we'll save the population." Shepard suggested, clapping the two women on the back as they stepped off the ship.

_Quick Song List: "Sally's Song" Nightmare Before Christmas. "Date My Avatar" The Guild cast. "Head Over Feet" Alanis Morrisette. "Taste of India" Aerosmith. "I Kissed a Girl" Katy Perry. "No Light, No Light" Florence and the Machine. "Riot" Three Days Grace. "Ain't Nobody Got Time For That__" Sweet Brown. "Perfect Isn't Easy" Bette Midler. "Passion and the Opera" Nightwish. "Pretty Girl Rock" Keri Hilson. "Devil in Disguise" Elvis. "What is this Feeling?" Wicked. "Something in Your Mouth" Nickelback. "Gucci Gucci" Kreayshawn. "Dance Ass" Big Sean. "Freak on a Leash" Korn. "Crazy Possessive" Kaci Battaglia. "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" Pat Benetar. "Putting Out Fire With Gasoline" David Bowie. "Sour Girl" Stone Temple Pilots. "Hollaback Girl" Gwen Stefani. "Enjoy the Silence" Depeche Mode. "Save the Population" Red Hot Chili Peppers._


	10. The First Day of Kindergarten

_Prompt: Why is there no mom Miranda fics save for one which I found (and was excellent). I would love to see the "Cerberus Cheerleader" in a mom role. Significant other is up to you, but I won't lie, I kinda prefer M!Shepard as Miranda's love interest. Just leave it to me to always love rarepairs :P_

__As much as it killed her, Miranda Lawson was not able to be with her husband and only daughter on the first day of Emily's kindergarten. Unfortunately, her flight out to Rannoch, where Oriana was working with the growing colonies, had been delayed, and she was stuck in the spaceport, waiting for the name of her shuttle to be called.

Still, while she wasn't able to present in person, the former Cerberus second-in-command had plenty of methods of observing the event. The nanites she'd placed in her husband's and daughter's clothes were alert and functional, giving her a clear view of just what was happening back on Earth.

Miranda clicked one of the buttons on her omnitool, and found herself greeted by the sight of a heavily-muscled man, nearly stooped over as he held the hand of a little girl. Said child was pale, as her mother was, with her father's sharp green eyes, and raven hair that could have come from either parent.

But to Miranda's surprise…her daughter looked nothing short of anxious as they stepped toward the little school building, looking down at the ground, and tugging at the front of her shirt…a habit inherited from the Lawson side of the family, and an obvious nervous gesture.

It had been different with their sons. Her oldest, Cain, had raced right out of the car, and shoved more than a few kids out of the way in his pursuit of the toy dinosaurs and ships. Her second, Neilsen, had kept any worries at bay with his boundless optimism, easily chatting with his schoolmates, and making friends with his natural charm (A habit inherited from his aunt, the famous commander, no doubt). Troy, their third, had caught sight of the first pretty girl, and headed right toward her, beginning a string of interactions that would soon have both his parents in the principal's office, discussing just why their son had been caught with said girl playing a game of, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours".

None of the boys had been anxious, but Emily, her first little girl, appeared stricken, and came to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.

"Daddy…" She began slowly, swallowing hard as she searched for the question lodged in her throat. "What did you put in my lunch?"

"Sandwich. Pear. Trail mix. And two cookies."

Miranda scowled. She and Dick had agreed that Emily should only have one cookie in her lunch, for nutritional purposes.

"Okay. And is there activated charcoal, as well?"

"What?"

Emily bit down on her lip. "Well…Cain told me that when he was in kindergarten, one of the other kids ate some weird glue, and he started throwing up everywhere, and fell on the floor, and started seizing, and had to go to the hospital to get his stomach pumped. But before he got there…his…his tongue fell out, and started rolling around on the ground like a worm. I mean, I would never do something like that, but what if one of the other kids eats some weird glue? Activated charcoal could slow the process, and keep any poison from entering the bloodstream, if someone gets poisoned. Unless the substance is a petroleum product, or acid, or alkali, because that's contraindicated-"

"Sweetheart," Dick gently interrupted, trying valiantly to hide the utter confusion on his face at words like 'alkali' or 'contraindicated'. "Your brother says a lot of things. I promise you, that never happened when he was in kindergarten. And I'm going to have a talk with him when he gets home from school about fibbing, alright?"

With luck, Miranda would be home in time to join in.

"Really? You promise?"

"Yeah. I mean, truth is, you'll probably see a kid eat some paste at somepoint, but its not toxic. They wouldn't have it in your class if it was."

"You're sure?"

"Sure as I can be." Dick offered her a crooked grin. "Anything else bothering you?"

Emily frowned for a moment, before declaring, "Cain is the terriblest boy that ever was."

"Most big brothers are, sweetheart."

"You don't say things like that to Aunt Jess."

"I used to, when we were little." The mercenary chuckled. "You know, I once convinced her that guacamole was smushed frog. And another time, I told her that all the worms in the garden outside our grandma's house were gummi worms. She ate six before she realized I was messing with her."

"Well, Aunt Jess is pretty gullible." Emily declared, her tone matter-of-fact. "The last time I saw Ms. Jack, she told me that you told Aunt Jess that Mommy was a thirty-five year old virgin before she met you, and that she believed you. She said that Aunt Jess kept trying to give Mommy pills and patches every time she went into her office, and had Mr. Mordin send Mommy some pamphlets."

Miranda nearly spit out the coffee she'd been drinking at that mention, and cursed violently at the now burning sensation behind her teeth and gums. She would kill Jack the next time she saw her!

"Daddy, what's a virgin?"

"That's a conversation that you need to have with your mother." Dick hastily replied, muttering under his breath, "I've already had the damn conversation three times with our sons, it's her turn already."

Miranda made a face at the remark. She had been well prepared to discuss the matter with Cain, Neil, and Troy. She had assembled diagrams, a powerpoint presentation, and a full binder of information about the 'birds and the bees', as their father called it, and had been more than willing to sit down and discuss the matter with their sons. In fact, she had been finishing up two interviews—one with an expert in the field of child psychology, and another with an exceptionally qualified sex therapist from Illium—when Dick had caught sight of her assembling bananas and condoms, and convinced her to let him speak to their sons first, before she met with them.

In retrospect, it had been for the best. Cain had used his biotics to destroy all her cue cards ten seconds into the presentation, Neil had turned bright red and locked himself in his room to get away from her, and Troy had merely smirked, and informed his mother that he already knew everything she was trying to tell him.

Still…Dick had no right to complain about the awkward necessity of the conversation. No doubt Emily would appreciate the comprehensive slideshow and the thirty-eight updated pamplets once she came of age.

"What conversation?" Emily asked, her keen hearing quickly picking up her father's mumblings.

"Don't worry about it. Not today. Today is gonna be fun." Dick grinned, and pushed a stray lock of their little girl's hair behind her ear.

"I know, it's just…I'm scared." Tears stung the corners of Emily's eyes, and began to drip down her face. "I-I'm sorry. I…I c-can't help it. I know it's stupid, but I just…"

Miranda's heart nearly dropped out of her chest, and not for the first time that day, she cursed her delayed flight. She should have been there, should have been able to sweep her daughter into her arms, and say something comforting. Oftentimes, she didn't know the words. Didn't know what magical, calming phrase was needed when her children were upset. Her father had certainly never tried to comfort her when she wept, had never cared if she was unhappy, had scorned her when she was vulnerable. But she…she had not done such things to her children, despite her constant worry that she would be no better than her father. Her boys, her little girl, they came to her when they were sad, when they cried, and seemed to want little more than a hug and Kleenex, for her to listen, and to tell them not to worry, and that things would be alright. Despite all that she had seen in this world, she still marveled every time she saw how quickly her children could bounce back, with such simple comforts.

It killed her that she couldn't be there at this moment.

"Sweetheart." Dick dropped to his knees, and drew their baby girl against his big chest, hugging her tightly. "It's not stupid at all. It's a big change, and it can be scary, but it can also be fun."

He smiled down at Emily. "I was scared my first day too."

"You were?" Emily looked puzzled, finding it difficult to comprehend that her tall, strong father could be afraid of anything. "What were you afraid of?"

"I don't know. It was all just so new, and I didn't know what to expect. I didn't like knowing what to expect." He chuckled. "Plus, you know, this was a long time ago, back when your grandparents were with the Alliance. Grandpa was on tour, and Nana was pregnant with Aunt Jess, so she brought me to my first day. And I started crying. I missed my dad, I was scared, and I was in a new place. Not only was it a new school, it was a new country. We'd gone from the UNAS to Singapore only a month before. I thought I would be the only kid that spoke English, and that something bad would happen, and that no one would be able to understand me."

That smile turned to a grin. "You know what happened?"

"What?" Emily's green eyes were wide, rapt with attention.

"It was fine. Nana hugged me, big belly and all, and told me that it would all be okay. That she would come and get me at the end of the day. And I went inside, and everything was okay. I played, I made friends, some of whom understood me, some of whom didn't. It all worked out, because I was big and fast, and everyone wanted me on their kickball team."

"I'm not very big, but I am fast." Emily pondered. "You think I can make friends at recess?"

"I think these kids would be crazy not to want you as a friend, anytime today." Dick grinned, and kissed her forehead. "Sweetheart, you're smart, you're kind, you're brave, and you're wonderful. And other people will see that. Don't ever think differently, alright?"

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I am." Dick chuckled. "And even on the off chance that things are weird today, you can always try again tomorrow."

"That would mean I failed. I hate failing." Emily admitted, casting the ground a petulant expression.

"Well, you come by that honestly." Dick chuckled. "But hey, at least you tried. Remember a few years back, when you first learning to swim, and you were scared to get in the water?"

"Yeah, but I did anyway." Emily pointed out.

"That's right. And now you're as fast as any of your brothers."

"Even stupid Cain." The little girl announced proudly.

"Yeah, even him." Dick laughed, despite himself. "Think you can give this a chance too?"

"I can." Emily sighed. "I wish Mommy was here though."

Emily couldn't have hurt her more if she'd driven a nail right through Miranda's heart.

"Your mom will be home tonight. And knowing her, I'm sure she's already found some way to watch this. Or, she's gonna hit up Ms. Liara for the footage."

Emily made a face. "That's creepy."

Miranda made a face as well.

"In any case, she'll want to hear all about your first day. And I will too, once I come to get you. Who knows? Maybe she'll get back in time to come get you too."

"I hope so." Emily smiled as they approached the door, and briefly met with the teacher.

As soon as they were done, she stood up, and hugged her father around his neck. "Bye, Daddy."

"Bye, sweetheart."

Emily paused for a moment, then smiled to the open air. "Bye, Mommy!"

"Goodbye, sweetheart." Miranda whispered softly, even though she knew her daughter could not hear her.

She warm blossomed in her heart as she watched her little girl head toward some of the other children in the class, while Dick exchanged a few extra words with the teacher.

Her own father had never sent her to a kindergarten, never would have paused to speak with her, to reassure her that all would be alright. And yet, her husband did it like it was nothing, easily finding the words that she couldn't quite grasp, bestowing the comfort she feared that she did not possess. And making sure that everything was alright in her absence. And had she been present, she knew that he would have slipped an arm around her waist, and told her, without her even needing to express her own worries, that Emily was happy, and that she was a wonderful mother. It was what he had done with their sons, it was what he would have done with their daughter, it was what he would do, time and again, once she was back with their family.

She watched as Dick soon stepped into the car, taking a gun out of the glove compartment and placing it on the dash, just in case he had to shoot anyone who witnessed his next display. And once it was comfortably settled, and no one was in sight, his face scrunched up, and the big man broke into tears, as he did every time he watched one of his children take their first steps into a new school.

A salarian janitor cocked his head at the sight of the man in the aircar, crying his eyes out, but Dick soon stopped, and wiped away his tears, pointing toward the carniflex on the dash, and mouthing, "You didn't see shit, motherfucker."

Wisely, the salarian scampered away after that.

A pleasant, feminine voice rang over the intercom, announcing the Flight 3529 was now boarding.

Miranda smiled as she shut down her omnitool, and collected her baggage. She'd be home just in time to see Emily walk out of the classroom on her first day of school.


	11. Scratch

_AM247: I'm sure if anyone has read this far, you're thinking, "This is a series of fills for the kinkmeme. Where's the fucking porn already?" Well, here's some of it. Not a fan of this one. I did this prompt as a thank you for someone filling one of mine, and I couldn't seem to find the right mood. It either seems too cracky, or too serious at parts, and is jilted as a result. But, there is actual smut this time around, and I think it turned out alright. So, enjoy!_

Dick Shepard was a grown man. As such, he made decisions like one, particularly when it came to women. He understood that some women needed space, others wanted attention, and all of them wanted to be listened to. After thirty-seven years of living, he knew this, and he knew how to take rejection like a man.

That was before Arahtot. His sister, Jess, had been called upon by her superior to investigate happenings in the Batarian system. Alliance commander and savior of the galaxy or not, this was a case when he wasn't going to listen, and insisted that he be allowed to tag along. And when the decision to press the button that would send an asteroid into that mass relay came to a head, he had slipped his big fingers right next to Jess's smaller, slender ones, both of them pushing the button together.

He wasn't about to let her do something like that alone.

But that didn't stop the doubt from creeping in. Sure, he'd done some bad things in his life. Biotic kids who ran away from home to escape Conatix, or the hushed dealings of Cerberus, and other shadowy groups, didn't have much choice sometimes. It was the same as a young adult, working for the Blue Suns. And even into his late thirties, Dick still found himself in situations like this.

And he was okay with that. He would follow Jess's orders, her example, but left to his own devices, he had no trouble abandoning those miners to let Zaeed catch Vido. He pulled out that batarian bartender's eyes with his bare fingers after he'd poisoned Jess on Omega. Leaving a few Salarian janitors behind on Illium, even though they had medigel to spare, meant to little to him, when it meant that they could get to Thane more quickly. And if Jess hadn't stopped him, he would have choked the life from Alenko after he'd spoken to his sister like that on Horizon.

But genocide on a mass scale was different. Something he'd never done before. Sure, he made excuses. He was just doing his job. It was part of being a merc. Sometimes, he could just shrug, and admit that he didn't give a damn about the rest of the world, as his paragon sister did.

But he cared this time. There were millions dead now. Women, children, people who had done nothing, and deserved nothing. Instead, they had been blown to bits, all because of him. Reapers be damned, that was fucking unforgivable.

That was what he told himself, when there was nothing but silence. When he and Jess had been quiet, as they stepped back onto the Normandy. He had been silent when they had headed for the Citadel, Hackett coming aboard to speak with the commander.

It wasn't until Miranda Lawson had barged into his quarters, demanding to know what had happened, that he was no longer silent.

Their interactions had always been volatile. His hatred for Cerberus, his aggressive personality, never minced well with her dogged dedication, and her own strong tendencies. As such, they clashed, even after her resignation from Cerberus. But this time, something different had happened. They had shouted, yes. Thrown up their hands in frustration, yes. But soon enough, they'd found different things to do with their fingers and lips, and the sound of raised voices quieted into the rustle of clothing, and the low moans of two lovers joining.

It was the first good thing Dick had felt in days. He was a simple man, who took his pleasures where he could get them. But having Miranda lying against his muscled frame, tucked safely in the crook of a bicep like banded iron, the scent of gardenia surrounding the inky black locks splayed over his shoulder, as she slept…it was…comforting. That ache, that restlessness, the doubt, it all disappeared, for just a few hours.

But that all changed, when she awoke. She had immediately seized the bedsheets, covering herself in a manner that had little to do with her nakedness. She told him that what they had just done had been a mistake. She didn't want it to continue.

He said he understood. And he did. She was in a crappy place too. No job, no direction, no clue what she was going to do once she got off the Normandy. And yet, some silly part of him, one he thought he'd buried decades before, came to life.

Maybe they could have built a new life together.

Stupid notions for stupid man, he supposed. No, not stupid. Worse than that. Rotten. Heinous, in ways that even Cerberus had never accomplished. She was supposed to be goddamn perfect, and he was worse than the scum Jess meant to clean off the side of her aquarium. He was an animal, just people always said he was.

Hell. Maybe it was time to embrace that.

And so, he did. Dick didn't shed any tears over what happened. Didn't speak of it, as it was no one's goddamn business what had happened. And when they took a shore leave on the Citadel, he let loose. Really loose, like he'd touched down in Aria's territory, rather than Bailey's.

Unsurprisingly, Dick found himself in jail, not long after an evening spent drinking, spraypainting illicit drawings on the side of the council tower, brawling with krogans, leaving a turian C-SEC officer in nothing but a Chora's Den stripper costume and tied to one of the street railings with his own handcuffs, and tossing a bottle of beer and a pint of mint chocolate chip at the screen during a showing of Fleet and Flotilla, while screaming, "She doesn't really love you!"

Oddly enough, it was his pissing into the presidium lake that finally landed him in jail that night. Had it not been for his stellar ability to reave, especially under terrible conditions, the gunfire and tasers might have very well done him in.

And while the man sat in a jail cell, glowering through the bars, another biotic found herself storming onto the Normandy, and right into Miranda's office.

"Jack." Miranda stood, her face wary. The commander was off the ship, and visiting with Commander Alenko at the time. She said that she had important Cerebus intel to deliver to the Alliance. Unless that intel was located someplace between her legs, Miranda seriously doubted that the commander would be returning anytime soon. And as such, she could not intervene in another grudge match. "Is there something you need?"

"Shit, cheerleader, it isn't me that needs something;." Jack rolled her eyes. "Quit lookin' at me like I'm about to rip off your tits or something. I'm not gonna smear the walls with you this time. Though I should."

Miranda had to count to ten before she could respond in a civil manner. Jack was infuriating. No one pushed her buttons as easily. No one but…well…Dick. But he had been keeping to himself lately.

"And why is that? We've been keeping a deck apart at all times, as instructed. What do you want?"

"It ain't me that needs somethin'. Dick is in jail. Go bail him out. And for fuck's sake, apologize while you're at it." Jack sneered. "I know it ain't your best skill, but you could try, just this once. Maybe loosen the tampon you got crammed up there, and try to say something that doesn't make someone wanna knock your goddamn rabbit teeth onto the floor."

Miranda hardly heard Jack's insults as she attempted to process what had happened. Dick in jail? Not that that was surprising, on a normal basis. But he had been so…quiet lately. He kept mainly to his quarters. It was likely he was trying to deal with whatever it was that had happened in the Batarian system. Jessa had been dealing with the after effects as well.

It would have been unfair to promise him anything, she'd told herself. She had too much on her plate right now. She needed to ensure Oriana's safety, needed to get off this ship before the Alliance could sieze it. She had contingencies to carry out. There was no room for emotional entanglement. Dick had understood this…hadn't he?

Damn it. What idiot sense of sudden moral decency had compelled her to get rid of the cameras in Dick and Jess's quarters? That was the last time she ever respected someone else's privacy.

"Dick seemed fine." Miranda whispered, more to herself than to Jack. "He was fine."

"Shit, cheerleader. And here I thought your self-inflicted down syndrome applied only to Cerberus shit." Jack snorted. "Yeah, I guess he's been quiet and shit. When have you ever known him to sit around, being quiet?"

As much as she hated to admit it, Jack had an excellent point.

"I'll head over to C-SEC immediately."

"Yeah. Like I said, 'sorry' can go a long fucking way."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Get out of my office."

Thankfully, Dick had sobered by the time she went to collect him. They were silent on their way back to the Normandy, nothing but the clack of high heels, and the heavy thump of combat boots against the pavement, and then the steel ramp, as they headed back to the Normandy.

But before Dick could take off, Miranda seized him by the shoulder, fingers gently pressing into warm, muscled flesh, and sending a very unwanted tingle through her entire arm. "Dick. May I speak with you in my office?"

He went tense then, green eyes surveying blue-grey for a sparse moment, before he finally nodded, and followed her into the sterile, black and white quarters.

Miranda didn't take a seat at her desk then. Dick was well over six feet in height, and she wasn't about to make herself any smaller before him.

Instead, she straightened up to her full height, and lifted her chin in a confident, poised manner. No need for him to realize how many butterflies were dancing about her stomach.

"Dick, I think we need to talk about what happened this evening."

"Won't happen again." He replied shortly, folding his arms over his chest. "No need to concern yourself."

"Dick, the crew may be close to disbanding, but in the meantime, I am still the executive officer, and the acting commander when your sister is otherwise…occupied." Miranda ignored Dick's grimace at the phrasing. "As such, I hope you understand that it reflects poorly on this ship, and myself, when you behave in such a manner."

"I got drunk. Everyone does that on shore leave." Dick responded, his voice beginning to lower to a growl, as agitation began to seep through. He was tired. He wanted to go back to his room, and bury his face in his bedsheets. Instead, the person he couldn't stand to be around this evening had pulled her right into her office.

"Really?" Miranda quirked a brow, and pulled up some messages on her omnitool. "Everyone gets into brawls with krogan?"

"There's usually brawls, yeah."

"And defaces public property?"

"Pretty standard on Omega."

"And cries three—no, six—times during a premeire of 'Fleet and Flotilla' while throwing icecream at the screen?"

"That was a community service. It's a terrible movie." Dick shifted uncomfortably. "There was something in my eye. And it wasn't six times."

"Seven, my mistake." Miranda shifted through the contents of the device on her wrist. "There's also the matter of the bill—"

"—Which I could pay right now if you weren't making me stand here."

"—And the damages."

"—I can pay for that too."

"—Not to mention the hit that your sister's reputation will take."

"—Not like we could do much worse after Arahtot." Dick noted, his voice taking a bitter note.

"—And the volus, who claims that you tried to transform his mouthpiece into some sort of musical intstrument."

"Lawson, fuck off." Dick finally snapped. "You're pissed. I get it. You've made that clear. And I'm gonna fix it. I get what I did wrong. No sense it dragging it out."

And then, the childish remark came. "Thought you liked things to be quick and clean, anyway."

Miranda's eyes flared at the remark. "As if you're in any condition to be seeing anyone right now? I may not know what happened in that Batarian colony, but whatever it was, it changed you. And I don't like it."

"And you slept with me anyway, knowing how I am right now? Well, I don't fucking like that, Lawson." He straightened up, his brawn towering over her slender frame.

Her blue eyes narrowed to slits, and her jaw clenched, as she straightened up. "I made a mistake. Better I let you know when I did, rather than drawing it out, by pretending to hold onto something that isn't there."

"Something that isn't there?" Dick let out a harsh, dry bark of a laugh. "Lawson, you've got to be fucking kidding me. If you don't wanna start anything now, then just say so. Don't try to pussy out of this by lying about your own damn feelings."

"And don't try to make yourself feel better by automatically assuming that the fault is entirely mine!" The woman snarled in response. "You're not exactly a prize, Dick!"

"And you never settle for nothing but the best." A bitter snort escaped him. "Maybe you should go crawling back to Taylor. I hear he's got plenty to say about prizes."

A sneer curled his lip. "Or maybe you should go ask Daddy to set you up. With the amount of time he put into your pedigree, I'm sure he's got someone better than a mutt like me picked out for his little princess."

A sharp crack sounded through the room, as Miranda's palm connected with Dick's cheek.

"You hit like a girl, Lawson."

Another smack sounded.

"Please. My dad could hit harder than that when he was passed out drunk, or too doped up to know his own name."

The next strike broke one of Dick's teeth.

Ignoring the metallic tang of blood, and the throb of the insulted molar, the mercenary pressed a rough palm to the wall, biotic light searing the tips of his fingers, and the lights dimming for a moment, as he reaved a portion of the synthetic energy flowing through the ship, and restored himself to full health.

"Mr. Shepard." EDI's voice rang out. "I have asked you many times to stop doing that."

"Shut the hell up, GLaDOS." Dick's gaze locked onto Miranda's, both of them unflinching, both of them refusing to stand down. The woman was so stubborn, and so irritating, and so goddamn arrogant to think she was always right, and never admit when she was wrong, never letting up, and so…so very beautiful. He didn't know if he wanted to throw her out an airlock or onto the nearest mattress.

He could hear the faint sound of her talking again, but his gaze had dropped to her lips, watching them draw back into a sneer as she spoke to him, her voice growing even more crisp as she realized that he wasn't paying attention. Finally, something in him snapped, and he grabbed her by the shoulders, drawing her close and planting a kiss right on her lips. He could see her in his mind's eye, shocked and horrified and completely forgetting to sneer at him.

And then, her fingers crawled up the back of his neck, tangling into his thick black hair, nails scraping against his nape, and pulling him closer. She did not yield to him. She fought back with equal fervor, as her clever mouth moved over his own, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip, eliciting a little grunt of pleasure from him, the first sound to emerge from the two of them.

She had her wits. She knew how to draw her fingers over his arms and chest, to drag them gently across the tiny spots on his anatomy that made him twitch, made him draw closer to her, and would soon have her completely at her mercy. She had finesse, and she was ruthless, and she was intelligent.

He, however, had strength to compensate, and instinct to match her own tactical thinking. A little gasp of surprise left her when his rough hands coasted down her back, gripping her buttocks with gentle force.

Dick paused for a moment, allowing himself a few selfish squeezes before he lifted her up, pressing her back against the wall, and pinning her to the metallic surface. A smirk broke their joined lips, and the mercenary's green eyes met her own, the luminescent spheres blue and bright with the flare of irritation, desire, and perhaps even biotics.

But he soon pushed aside a lock of her hair, and soothed her with his mouth, his lips touching the sensitive, soft spot just behind her ear. Electricity crackled beneath her skin, and Dick could sense the flow of biotic energy across her nerve endings, the clusters of neurons shooting back and forth between her brain and her skin.

Experimentally, his tongue shot out to dab at the place he had just kissed, and she gripped his shoulders tightly, and squeezed her legs tighter around his hips, her breasts and belly pressing close against his hard chest as a little shiver of pleasure twirled up her spine, and she drew in a sharp breath, the electricity beneath her skin sending little sparks of blue over his tongue, before racing frantically towards her brain.

It occurred to Dick at that moment that he had absolutely everything he needed to undo Miranda Lawson. And he was going to have her soaked in sweat and writhing in ecstasy all because of a few careful touches from his rough hands.

But as he followed the pattern of blue-lit nerves with his mouth, traveling from the tender juncture of her ear and along the curve of her swan-like neck, his fingers hooking into the hem of her jumpsuit and hunting for the zipper, it never even occurred to him that Miranda was just as stubborn, just as competitive, and just as equipped to completely undo him.

He would realize his mistake very, very quickly.

Miranda, for her part, had forgotten how to think. How to breathe, even. At least for the moment. This man had her pinned to the wall, hands roaming over her with abandon, with leisure. It was…good. No, more than that. There was something about it, something that she couldn't put her finger on, even as words formed in her mind, then faded away like dust in the wind.

Warm. Good. Pleasure. Sex. Love. Tingles. Satin. Smoke. Rough. Tension. Need. Force. Soft. Hard. Hot. Wet.

It was too much. Too much for her senses to grasp. Her brilliant mind was overloaded with sensation, overloaded with stimulation, and he'd barely even touched her. This could not come to pass.

Some strange instinct took over, one that would leave her utterly puzzled when she reflected on this later, and remembered that one of her hands left his shoulders, biotic light tinging her fingers as she aimed toward her desk. Right on cue, one of the drawers sprang open, and a pair of military-grade handcuffs soared forward into her hands.

Dick barely had time to think as Miranda pushed at his broad shoulders, and dug her heels into his knees, sending him off balance, and tipping them both to the floor.

The former operative moved to straddle him, and quickly snapped the metal rings over each of his wrists, a delighted grin settling over her face. Yes. He was contained now. She had control again.

But Dick just laughed, a rich, hearty thing, unlike the dry gusts he'd allowed himself only moments before, and braced his arms, giving the chains a good wrench.

They broke instantly, a display of strength that floored the former operative. Could he…no…not even a hint of biotics? Just muscle? That…that couldn't have been possible.

"Please, Lawson. You're gonna have to do better than that." The merc informed the stunned woman as he sat up, and pinned her own arms above her head, gripping her wrists with one hand.

The other moved warmly up her hips, tracing over the white honeycombs of her armor, until they could settle underneath her collar, loosening the damned contraption with a quick snap, as his lips moved downward, trailing over alabaster skin, and settling right at the hemline of her armor.

Blue light trailed from his fingers, teasing over the little nodules of energy in her body, sending static shocks along her spine, and curling deep into the pit of her abdomen. He could feel every nerve in her body, every spark of electricity that traveled through her veins in testament to her power. He was quickly learning every glorious spot, every little cell that blossomed with sensitivity, that would make her rake her nails over his scalp every time his lips or fingers touched them.

Yet he couldn't find the damn zipper to her jacket.

Abandoning all intentions of undressing her in a civilized manner, Dick's glowing fingers sank right into her hemline, and he ripped downward, tearing the jumpsuit right down the middle. His breath stopped in his lungs when he saw her perfect breasts up close, straining against the lacey support her bra provided. The sight of it went straight to his gut, and pumped forward into his loins, heat gathering and straining against his pants. And that look she was giving him…good God, if she had any plans to kill him for what he'd said earlier, then she had him completely at her mercy now.

That damned jacket was quickly shrugged off her shoulders, and Dick reached out to take her by the waist, pulling her closer to him as he dipped forward, the thick stubble on his face scraping marvelously over her skin as he decorated her breasts with kisses, with caresses, and with smiles, when he felt her wriggle loose, trying to guide his head towards the places she wanted him most.

But he already knew. He had no trouble using his biotics to cheat, and as he unsnapped her bra, and sealed his mouth over one of her pink, perfect nipples, flicking his tongue in a way that made her nerves dance beneath her skin, he decided that it was well worth it.

Her own fingers glowed azure, and sifted through the dark, thick strands of his hair, making the tips of his Caesar cut stand on end as electricity buzzed across his scalp, over the tips of his ears, and down the nape of his neck.

Her fingertips smoothed over his shoulders, toyed with the soft, black fuzz of his chest hair, and applied pressure to the hard-packed muscles of his pectorals, sailing down his abdomen, until she could fist those fingers into his belt line, groping at buttons and zippers.

The woman could knit tarnished strands of DNA back together, yet she couldn't seem to remember how to push a button through a hole.

Fed up, Miranda yanked Dick's head away, and pushed him back to the floor, planting the heel of her palm right in his sternum, as she braced herself, rising to her knees as she bypassed all the intruding fabric, shredding shoes, shirt, jeans, and boxers with a few well placed warps.

Any notion of protest died on his lips as her mouth drew over his, dragging downward over his throat, and his chest, while her fingers wrested with the carved lines of his hipbones, bidding him to hold still, as she moved toward the burgeoning rise of his arousal.

The flex of her fingers over his shaft sent fire racing through his loins. The slow, wet draw of her tongue over the tip was enough to finish him there. And if that wasn't enough, she added her biotics to the mix, the hum of blue energy over his engorged length enough to make his back arch, and his fingers clench to fists, searching for something, anything, to hold onto, but the metal floor was bare of ornament.

It was too much. The sweet, suckling pressure was making an ache rise in his groin, one that needed to be sated soon. And when he looked down at Miranda, he saw a wicked gleam in her blue eyes.

Finally killing him, as the crew had suspected she would in the early days of the Normandy, would have been less torturous than this. And she knew it.

To hell with her. He wasn't going to finish in her mouth like some kid twenty years his junior. He was going to have her on her back, and thrashing under him as he spread her thighs, and dunked himself into a place so rapturously sweet, that it would make what she was doing with her full lips and soft tongue seem like a punishment on par with a trip to the guillotine.

A quick flash of blue energy, and she was tossed to the side, rolling over once or twice before she landed on her back. That was all the time Dick needed to tug aside her boots, and roll the skintight layer of her pants over her ankles.

Her panties were ripped away as easily as the handcuffs from before, and hot kisses splashed over her ankles, her knees, her inner thighs.

Miranda barely had time to catch her breath as he swung her legs over his shoulders, burying his face right in the nestle of black curls at her center, and breathing in her scent. A sharp gasp escaped her as his tongue brushed over the little pearl of her deepest pleasure, holding steady as over eight thousand nerves scrambled to adjust, to process this marvelous sensation.

As the tiny nub began to throb, he began to move, tasting her, lapping at her in a slow, insistent rhythm, as her hips tilted upward, trying to draw in all the pleasure she could handle.

Blue-tipped fingers braced her buttocks, offering her a quick squeeze before sliding back around to her inner thighs. His green eyes were fixed on her skin, tracing the outline of nerves as they raced along her veins, following them with his fingertips, until he reached the damp cove between her legs.

Two fingers were pushed right into her center, and his mouth returned to its ministrations, this time moving to suckle on her clit, as those fingers hummed with energy, Miranda's creamy flesh glowing a bright burst of blue for a single moment, as he prodded the roof of her core, drawing over a spot that was so excrutiatingly good, she couldn't help a cry of surprise, and pleasure, from escaping her.

The woman prided herself on control. On keeping a tight-fisted rein on her emotions. But their last tryst had been quick, born in a burst of passion. This was longer-lasting, more intense, more explosive, in nature. It had been been two years since she'd had time to spare like this.

Damned if she wasn't going to enjoy herself.

And Dick. He was…attentive. Considerate. Something more than that. It was…surprising. Surprising as the dedication he'd shown when he'd helped her to look after Oriana and her family, surprising as the as the care he'd shown after she'd shot Niket, the gentle encouragement to meet Oriana, the glass of wine he'd had waiting when she'd finished, the steak dinner he'd brought to her office, knowing she wouldn't have taken the time to eat a proper meal that evening.

And in that moment, the brilliant woman forgot every reason she'd pushed him away.

Something began to gather deep in the pit of her loins, something that made her toes curl, and a wave of heat rush over her, as the pit of her stomach dropped out from beneath her, and her inner muscles clenched around his glowing digits.

She parted her thighs eagerly as Dick settled over her, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissing him soundly as he slipped inside her.

Something softened in Dick—not his namesake, thankfully—and he brought an arm to her back, the other falling to her backside, as he lifted her into his arms, still stout inside her as he picked her up, and walked across the room, trading hard, metallic floor for soft, silk sheets, as he laid Miranda back against the pillows.

This time, he didn't fight as she bade him to turn over, straddling his hips as he took hold of hers, and finding a rhythm that suited them both.

Slow, sweet friction wrapped over both of them like a warm blanket, and Miranda did not protest as he moved the two of them to their sides, one hand bracing her thigh, while the other cupped her cheek. Her own hands fell to his shoulders, sliding down to grip biceps that felt hard as bone beneath her fingers, as their lips locked in a kiss.

The tension began to rise even further, peaking into something explosive, and spiraling into something miraculous, as heat and passion and pleasure seized their senses, flooding both of them with hot, tingling sensation, and leaving them floating on a little cloud of contentment. They could hardly move, hardly breathe, so lost in this simple moment.

They stayed like that for some time afterward. For once, neither of them had anything to say, content with the press of pale, soft breasts against tanned pectorals, muscle mortared into skin like the stone walls of an Irish castle. Smooth, slender legs draped over long, hair-roughened ones. Delicate, tapered fingers linked with a strong, square hand. Two pairs of eyes, icy blues and greys peering into clear, grassy green. The brush of silky black hair over the broad rise of a shoulder. Rough fingertips smoothing over the marble curve of a hip.

There would be challenges to face, issues to resolve. But things were clearer now. And as their lips met again, it was obvious: For all their harsh words, fighting, sniping, and bickering, neither considered the other just an itch to scratch.


	12. Quick Fill for a Quickie in the Elevator

_A/N: Given that this is a set of stories based off K!meme prompts, I should probably post some porn already. yes? Well, here's more._

_Prompt: Come on guys, I can't think of the last time I saw a FShenko/Kaidan fic I didn't write myself. Let's have some smutty goodness up in here. Reunion sex after 'the end'? Quickie in the elevator? Doggy style in the shuttle while Steve's out to lunch? I don't care, I want Shenko!_

The moment they stepped into the elevator, Kaidan snapped out the emergency lock, pushing Jess against the wall as he captured her lips in a rough, marauding kiss.

"Wanna see how many clothes we can keep on before we get this done?" He whispered saucily, roughened fingers reaching under her shirt to reveal a sun-tanned belly, as his digits lingered over the faded scars of battles fought, trailing upward toward firm, high curves, and offering the soft weights a gentle squeeze.

The sleeve of her shirt was pushed down, allowing just enough room for Kaidan to slide aside a lacey black strap, the round curve of a breast appearing once the satin cup surrounding it had been pushed away. He bent his head forward, pinpointing the tiny, hardened tip with his lips, and drawing it into his mouth, suckling her gently.

As long, slender fingers sank into his thick black locks, little tingles of static electricity brushing her skin, Kaidan's own fingers plucked at the zipper her pants, and drifted toward the hem of her panties, delving inside to find those spicy red curls damp with anticipation. Hot serum coated his searching fingers as he dipped one deep inside the core of her body, and brought his thumb to the tiny bud of her greatest pleasure, feeling it throb against him.

As she grew tight against him, and her nails scraped deep into his scalp, Kaidan released her for a moment, chuckling as she moved to help his unfasten his pants, pushing down his boxers until something hard and alert sprang free, and he was able to hoist Jess against the elevator wall, entering her with a slow thrust.

Bliss clouded Kaidan's mind as they began to move. It had been so long since they had been able to do this. Not since Saren's death and the defeat of Sovereign were they able to sneak about the Citadel like this. He recalled an incident just like this, where the two of them had hidden in a utility closet outside the council chambers just to avoid paparazzi. They'd managed to spend the entire afternoon in that cramped room, with the entertainment they'd been able to provide each other.

That time, he had been blushing, chuckling uncomfortably as he suggested that they could get caught, at least until Jess had taken a very firm grip of the situation. This time, he was the one pushing her into the secluded space, and as they moved together, something hot, and electric blossomed between the two of them. He was consumed by her. The radiant green of her eyes, like sun-warmed grass. The brilliant red of her hair, no that wasn't enough to describe it. This woman had been sculpted from rubies and emeralds, glazed with bronze and tints of gold. Even in the deepest reaches of space, she smelled of the upturned earth, of summer rain and sun-kissed meadows. There was a song in her voice, the sweet, low sound of a twang she'd long since traded in for a basic spacer accent. But that song still shined through.

He'd once said that space was the final frontier, a place that he couldn't wait to settle. The truth was, space was beautiful, but cold, vast, and empty. Jess was warm, full of life and sunshine and the scents of pine needles and azaeleas. She was rich as ripened citrus, and fresh as the salty sea air, her smile clear and guiless as the blue sky above. Yes, out of all the things he'd seen, all the views he'd come to appreciate, Jess's smile was his favorite.

To hell with the final frontier. To hell with the asari. To hell with the perfect human specimen, Miranda. To hell with Sha'ira, the consort. Jess was earthy, flesh, and blood, and real, and anything but flawless. She was priceless beyond diamonds, and if she didn't know it, he would make sure she did by the end of the night.

Kaidan watched as a single drop of sweat braced the corner of her cheek, dropping low over her skin until biotic energy flashed, and the water shone a deep, brilliant blue. Heat began to rise within them, and blue light spread from that drop of sweat all along the length of their conjoined bodies, until suddenly, something clenched deep inside of Jess, and Kaidan soon followed with an explosive burst of passion, expressing this moment with a low groan, and burying his face in the crook her neck, as that tiny dropped of sweat glowed that ethereal blue, and splashed against the floor, clear as day once again.

As the two of them worked to catch their breath, the cool steel of the elevator walls making its presence known against their heated skin, Kaidan couldn't help a chuckle, hearing an easy tune sound from the elevator speakers.

"We've got time, we could spend a little more in here." He commented, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, and kissing her throat. "Maybe share something about our people's histories."


	13. Slap Wore Out, Part One and Two

_Prompt: It's sometime after the First Contact war, but a bit before the events of the trilogy. Shanxi is long over, the hostility has mostly ebbed away, but humans and turians still haven't really figured each other out yet. During this time, a turian is forced to spend some time on a terribly remote backwater human colony. Could be for any reason. Maybe his ship malfunctioned and he had to make an emergency landing, or maybe he's a deliveryman with supplies and turbulent atmospheric conditions keep him from leaving right away. Doesn't matter why, so long as he's forced to spend some time as a guest of the local humans. He'll be stuck for awhile on a middle-of-nowhere colony that's never really ever had much to do with them alien folk before. Everyone's very curious to see the real, live alien. Yunno, like the ones they have on extranet tee-vee? _  
_Of course some of the adults would remember them fairly unfavorably from the war, or just be plain hostile to outsiders, but I bet the youngsters would mostly just be pretty curious and inquisitive. I'd like this to be a big, humorous focus of the fill: the poor guy dealing (gracefully or otherwise) with all sorts of awed attention from well-meaning hicks, and all of their questions ranging from the silly to the earnest-while-borderline-offensive. And for good measure, let's say there's a 20-something gal who has a more thorough curiosity that can only be solved with a private, hands-on investigation. Because this is the Kinkmeme, dangit!_

_AM247: So, I'm planning on dividing this into two parts, for two reasons. One to set up the plot, and another because this is turning out to be much longer than I expected, and I'm tired and becoming highly incoherent by this point, as may be evidenced in the last few passages. More importantly, I'm planning to continue this with Marlee exiting, so I can focus entirely on Garrus and the awkward stuff that will arise during his stay. Admittedly, he is not a character I write for very often, so if anyone would like to pitch some ideas for awkward situations, or anything else, please, let me know. :D This fic takes place in 2186, and the first part is from the POV of Marlee, a visiting colonist on Horizon. She is also Dick Shepard's grandmother, if anyone reads that shit. XD Last point of note: This is purely satire and crack, done for fun, and not to be taken seriously. Cookie for anyone that can tell me where the 'sternum' line comes from. Anywhoo..._

It occurred to Marlee Sullivan that she was beginning to get old.

That didn't come as much of a surprise to her. Every morning, her bones creaked like a rusty door when she stretched. There were crow's feet lingering at the corners of her green eyes. And her red hair was streaked with grey, like ash settling in after a forest fire.

Still, she kept healthy. She didn't smoke. Didn't have any urge to after watching her husband rot his lungs from the inside out with cigars, and her daughter passing away in the same hospital only two years later, for the same reasons.

She didn't drink to excess. She wouldn't do that to her daughter's babies, when they'd lost their daddy to the bottle. No more than a cocktail every once in awhile, or a glass of wine at dinner. Even Jesus drank, after all.

And as much as it killed her, she'd made some cuts to her diet, taking her chicken grilled, rather than fried, and increasing her already generous intake of vegetables and fruit.

And most importantly, she kept active.

When her deceased daughter's best friend, and her grandbabies' godmother, Hannah Shepard, had called her, asking her to visit one of the colonies, she had accepted. After those damned Collectors had spaced her baby girl's baby girl, and made off with all those colonists, few doctors had wanted to visit, and even fewer veterinarians. And the colonists depended on their livestock to provide their necessities, in case Alliance supply ships were delayed, as was often the case out in the Terminus systems.

Marlee had retired from her veterinarian practice some years before, choosing to focus her knowledge on the strays she took in, rather than the whole of the community. Still, when Hannah called her, she packed her things, she left her farm in the care of her son, and headed right to Horizon.

It occurred to her she should have been more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, heading off to the colony as she had. But she wasn't.

She and her darling husband had often discussed medicine, when their practices crossed. He had been a neurosurgeon, and often interested in seizures, and strokes, while she had treated, trained, and recommended more than her fair share of service dogs. Patients often experienced a phenomenon called 'aura' when they knew they were about to have a stroke, or an outbreak of seizures. The best service dogs could sense the same thing before it even happened, and often did their best to warn their owners to sit down and take it easy, before the storm hit.

The way she figured it, if something was about to go wrong that day, she would know it. And if not, the beagle and the golden retriever snoring away on her kitchen floor that morning would have been wide awake, and whining at her before she could step outside, knowing that something would go wrong.

But nothing felt wrong. She was healthy and hale, dressed in her tracksuit, and ready for her morning jog. Yes sir, today, the good lord seemed to be saying that everything would be just fine.

A grin crossed her face as she caught sight of her neighbor, Bridge friend, and jogging buddy.

"Well, Ms. Traynor, how are you this mornin'?"

"I'm doing quite well, thank you." Anaya Traynor smiled back, and fell into line beside Marlee as the two started power walking, weights in hand. "And yourself? Us colonists aren't running you too ragged, I hope?"

"Oh bless your heart, no! I like the challenge. You know that." Marlee laughed. "You hear back from your baby girl yet?"

"I just got word this morning! Do you remember that lab I mentioned?"

"The one Sam was lookin' toward? Did she get in?" The woman's eyes went wide at the grin on her friend's face. "She got in? Good for her! I knew your smart gal would be workin' there in no time. Does she like it? I'll bet she's happier than a cat in a cardboard box."

"She does like it." Anaya chuckled. "She's very happy, though she admits that she's a little disappointed with the research budget. You know how it is with the young types. They forget that it takes a good of currency to fund projects. She never had to hoard this much tech while she was at Oxford."

"Guess my grandbaby, Kalika, got lucky when she headed off to Oxford to study English. Not much money needed in writin'." Marlee chuckled as well. "Still, the Alliance will come through for your little gal. Just needs to put in her years, and such. I'm sure of it."

"That's what I keep telling her. And I think it may be coming true. The last time we spoke, our call was cut off, when she received a message requesting her immediate transfer to Vancouver." Anaya grinned. "She couldn't tell me any of the details, of course, but by the sounds of it, she's about to embark on a sizable undertaking. She's very excited."

"As she should be. Whatever it is the Alliance has got stored up in Vancouver is probably pretty darn good!" Marlee shook her head. "But she's not just focused on her work, right? I reckon there's some pretty cute girls up in Canada."

"I've asked, but she's quite reticent about the matter. That's how she's always been, however. Shy. 'Allergic to public speaking', she likes to call it." Anaya laughed. "Still, I'm hopeful. She's been going to a lot of chess tournaments, as I understand it. I'm hoping she'll meet someone there. So far, the only person she's run into on a frequent basis is this one asari woman, T'Suzsa."

"Calls her by her last name? That don't sound too good."

"They're bitter rivals, she assures me. And she's more interested in beating her, than taking her out to the pub." Sighing, Anaya shook her head. "Still, perhaps things will change with this new assignment."

"I hope so, darlin'. Your Sam's a sweet gal. I'm sure there's some other sweet gal out there for her." Marlee grinned, gesturing toward one of the pre-fabs as they passed by. "Ms. Wong's little gal is fillin' out real nice. She's about Samantha's age now, right? Maybe you could have them over for dinner the next time Sam visits? Introduce them and such?"

"It's a good thought, though Qi Wong seems very interested in staying on Horizon, with her family. And Samantha isn't particularly keen on settling down here. There's a reason she went to Earth for college, after all."

"Maybe she'll change her mind after she gets a better look at Qi." Marlee noted slyly. "Girl fills out any more up top, and pretty soon she'll have to watch out for the sharp end of a dull pencil."

"I suppose there is hope in that." Anaya chuckled again, before smiling toward Marlee. "What about your own brood? How are they?"

"My son, Marshall, is lookin' after the farm. No problems just yet. His baby, Aishi, is bringing her baby, Addy to visit. He'll like that real well. The other two girls, Sarisha and Kalika, are visiting their other grandma in India, and their mama's gonna join them real soon. In truth though, I think Indira latches on to any excuse she can get to stay away from her mama. She makes her about as crazy as an outhouse rat. Still, the girls are havin' a good time. I need to show you the pictures they sent me of their new sarees. Prettiest things you've ever seen."

"I'd like that. Are Dick and Jess on Earth as well."

"Dick." Marlee's lip curled in disgust. "I love that boy, but lord have mercy, do I hate that name. No one started callin' him that until he was a teenager. Before that, we all called him 'Richie'. But no, I guess that's part of his growin' up. Pitiful."

Shaking her head to clear away the bad memory of the name change, she continued, "He and Jess are doin' alright. Jess passed through here awhile back, I understand. Met up with that Kaidan feller she was head-over-heels for two years back. I hope they patched things up, but she's bein' a bit tight-lipped about the matter. Dick though, he met a gal while he was travelin' with Jess. Miranda. Even brought her back to Earth to introduce us."

"You like her?"

"I do. She's real bright, very polite. Awkward as a cow tryin' to birth a baby without a helping hand though, bless her heart. Real pretty too, but she walked around in the Florida heat in nothin' but high heels and a jumpsuit. I can see why Richie likes her. Miranda dresses like that Silk Spectre gal from his favorite movie. All tight clothes and low hemlines. She don't know no better though. Her mama was basically a soup can, as I understand it. Bless her heart."

"Is it just low-cut suits and heels, or is there something to this one?"

"You know, I think there's somethin' to this one." Marlee grinned. "I've met a number of the gals Richie's seen before. Nice gals, all of them, but this one…I think she's somethin' special to him. I can tell. And like I said, she's a good one. Real sharp. Which is damn good, because sometimes, my boy knows what he's doing. But other times, he's dumb as a box of rocks. Miranda ain't like that, she's smart as a whip. Which is good. They'll have smart babies, if he ever gets it into his head to ask her. I'm hopin' he'll ask me for his mama's ring sometime this-"

Before she could continue, the sound of exploding metal shook the air.

Marlee came to a sudden stop, peering out into the distance at the sight of smoke, trailing upward into the blue sky.

Without another word, she and her friend headed straight for the site.

When they arrived, a small private fighter was smoking out near the field. And not too far off, a group of boys and girls of varying ages surrounded something.

"What is it?"

"It's one of them turian fellers, like on the extranet!"

"That ain't true! Look at the wanker, its an asari!"

"Asari are all mujeres, pendejo. Maybe if you actually finished your tarea once in awhile, you'd be able to recognize that."

"The only bloody book *you* ever look at is your Mum's fornax! What do you know?"

"Let's poke it with a stick!" One of the younger boys suggested, a delighted grin on his face.

"Y'all quit actin' ugly!" Marlee scolded as she and Anaya approached the scene, the two of them crouching down to investigate.

The man lying down was indeed a turian. And not just any turian. After Saren's defeat, Jess and her team had been honored for their service, and Marlee had attended the ceremony. This young man had been present. Garrus Vakarian.

And she'd be damned if she let one of her darling girl's friends die.

Marlee wasn't a nurse, like Anaya, but she knew enough to help, quickly helping Anaya logroll the alien onto his back, as a crowd began to gather.

"Hot damn. Look at that feller. If he gets any uglier, the flies'll be buzzin' around his head next time he heads out to stables."

"I think he's cute as a bug." A young woman giggled, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Even with those scars."

"Did anyone witness this?" Anaya asked the crowd. "Did anyone see what happened?"

"Don't right know, meself." One of the boys from earlier shrugged. "Poor bloke just crashed here. Stumbled out of his ship before he collapsed on the ground."

"I know what this is."

Marlee looked up to see a grey-haired man with cold blue eyes, glaring down at the turian, a shotgun clutched in his hand.

Mr. James Rebel was one of the more antagonistic members of the colony. A veteran of First Contact, he'd brought his two daughters out to Horizon, hoping for a fresh start. They'd been happy for some years, him working hard as a mechanic, his daughters working hard out in the fields. That all changed when the Collectors struck, and took his daughters away in pods.

If Mr. Rebel had antipathy toward aliens before, it had increased tenfold in the past years.

"It's a goddamn attack, is what it is. First signal of it." Rebel shook his head. "I ain't about to see this colony take another hit, I'll tell you what."

Marlee immediately stood up, her hand drifting toward her purse. "Now hold on just this minute, Mr. Rebel. This young man is not going to die today."

"The hell it ain't!" He snarled in response, gripping his shotgun closer. "You know what these sons of bitches did during First Contact? You know how many men starved while their lasers rained down on the whole lot of us? The streets of Shanxi lit up like the halls of Hell when the Turians struck, I'll tell you what! And I ain't about to see the same damn thing happen to Horizon! Again!"

He shook his head again, narrowing cold blue eyes at the unconscious turian. "This ain't no war, Ms. Marlee. Ain't no skirmish. Ain't no real fight. When my babies were little, and scared of the dark, I used to walk in their closet and scare off monsters. When they played in the yard, I made sure no snakes, no rats, no rabid dogs or cats hurt 'em. I looked out for my kin, and made sure that no harm come to 'em."

He cocked his gun, and aimed it at the turian. "This here ain't no different."

Before he could say another word, the veterinarian had pulled a pistol out of her purse, and aimed it right between his eyes.

"What in the hell do you think yer doin'?! You lost yer goddamn mind, ya senile old bitch?!"

"I most certainly have not, Mr. Rebel." Her green eyes bored into his own blue. "You think I don't know about First Contact? My son starved and fought right under those cannons, my daughter worked on every engine that crossed paths with the turian fleet, and my husband treated more soldiers than there is salt in the sea. I wouldn't be surprised if you were one of them, Mr. Rebel. What surprises me most is that my Cain didn't think to fix up whatever hitch in your brain structure that's got you actin' such a damn fool today."

Marlee glared right down the barrel of his gun, and aimed her own between his eyes. "Go ahead. Shoot that boy. But before you do, you get this right through your skull, Mr. Rebel: I have buried four loved ones long before I should have. I lost my husband and daughter to a disease that shouldn't exist in this day and time, my son-in-law to the same scarrin' from First Contact you're showin' off today, and my grandbaby to the same bug-eyed bastards that ripped through this colony and took your own babies some months back. And when that same little girl was old enough, I took her out on our family's farm, laid some tin cans out on a fallen log, handed her my rifle, and taught her just how to take the shot that left Saren Arterius with nothing but a tag on his toe."

"I may be old, I'm probably getting senile, but I know that turian deserved it, Mr. Rebel. And this one doesn't. Ask yourself…can you get a bullet in his hide before I put one in yours?"

Rebel was quiet for a long moment, before he lowered his shotgun, scowling silently.

"That's what the hell I thought."

As Rebel walked away, Anaya quirked a brow at Marlee, once she finished her rapid trauma assessment, finding nothing but a few bumps and bruises, nothing of great significance. The turian's armor, both natural and manmade, had protected him from the worst of the explosion, and there was little care for beyond a few mild burns and blisters. "You carry a gun in your purse?"

"You don't?" Marlee couldn't help a light chuckle as she put her gun back in her purse, and knelt down beside the turian, gently shaking his shoulder. "Darlin'? You alright?"

A low grunt was heard from the man.

"Come on, sugarcube. I need to you to start talkin' to me." Marlee took one of his talons, and pinched it, pleased to see that the nail whitened, then quickly shifted back to normal.

Another grunt sounded from the man, as he muttered, "Calibrations."

"What was that, sweetheart?" Locating a radial pulse didn't seem to be an option, but the skin at his neck was more like soft leather, than hard, suede plates. By the time she palpated a strong carotid pulse, his eyes were open, carefully shifting from Marlee, to the other colonists.

"Calibrations." He explained, his tone drowsy. "They didn't do enough…for the engine."

"Makes sense." The woman chuckled, looking toward the carcass of the private fighter. "Your ship's about as useful as a pair of trousers on a pissin' bull at this point."

"Right…I don't know what that means." The turian blinked. "Jess says things like that. I never know what she means. She needs to stop including those in her reports…and her orders."

"Oh, don't you worry about it, darlin'. We're gonna take real good care of you." Marlee smiled to Garrus, before rounding on the colonists. "And just what in the hell are you all lookin' at? Go! Get a stretcher! Get the doctor! We got us a trauma patient here, and y'all are just standin' about!"

The colonists all scrambled to obey.

Some hours later, Marlee sat in the waiting room of the tiny, colony hospital.

"You see that feller they brought in?" One of the nurses murmured to the other. "That scarrin' on his face? Poor feller looks like he's been beaten with an ugly stick."

More like someone built a chest of drawers out of all those sticks and dropped it right on his head, Marlee thought, wisely keeping that comment to herself. She'd been relieved when Anaya had informed her that the scarring on his face was old, and had nothing to do with the prior explosion.

A sympathetic smile crossed her face when she watched Garrus emerge from the room, weary but no worse for wear. "Poor darlin'. You look slap wore out."

"Marlee, is it? I remember you from the ceremony." A low, vibrating chuckle escaped the man. "I seem to remember you…what's the human expression…gnawing off Udina's skull…with your words?"

"I didn't care too much for the introduction he gave Jess." Marlee explained, slipping her arm through Garrus's much to the turian's surprise. "Don't look at me like I've sprouted a second ass, boy! It won't do to have you trippin' over yourself when we've just left the hospital!"

"This is hardly the worst I've dealt with." Garrus shook his head. "I like to think I'm not about to go down in history as the great Commander Shepard's companion: Helps defeat Saren, staves off hundreds of mercs during a full assault on Omega, takes rocket to the face, survives suicide mission, and yet…defeated by a lack of calibrations."

He paused, considering his words. "Actually, that sounds exactly how I might go out."

"Jess mentioned something about that, last time she called." Marlee chuckled. "She said Miranda has a habit of reading everything on her terminal. So in her spare time, she started writing something called, 'Calibrations: The Musical'. Just to torture her poor XO. I understand you were the lead role in her masterpiece."

"I suppose that's better than 'Archangel: The Experience'. That's the title she was working on the last time we spoke." Garrus shrugged. "She's probably had time to come up with a melody and holding casting calls since she's been in Vancouver."

"She's in Vancouver?" Marlee arched a scarlet brow at Garrus. "Now hold on, I thought she was busy out here in the Terminus. I know she took care of the Collectors, but last I heard, she wasn't due to be stationed on Earth any time soon."

"You don't know?" Garrus's face paled. "Oh…"

"Know what? What's going on in Vancouver?"

She stared at the quiet turian for a long time, before she suddenly grinned. "Kaidan…he's from Vancouver, right? Is she visiting him? Oh lord, I hope so. She was so upset after that bit on…well…here. They're patching things up, aren't they? Oh, that's wonderful news!"

"Yeah. Patching things up."

Marlee stared at Garrus again, and narrowed her eyes at the man. "Son, do you know how many children have passed through my home in the past fifty years?"

"Uhm…"

"And do you know how many have fooled me before?" Her green eyes bored into his opalescent. "Don't you dare lie to me, boy."

"I think this is a conversation you should have with Jess. If you can reach her."

"And why wouldn't I be able to reach her?"

"Because she's in an Alliance detainment facility, and has been for over three months now." Garrus admitted, hardly able to believe what was happening. This woman had stared at him. Nothing more. And here he was, spilling his guts to her. Executor Pallin would have loved to have her in the confession room.

"Are you tellin' me…that my granddaughter, my beautiful, first human spectre grandbaby…is in *jail*?"

"…Sort of."

"I see." Marlee's voice was low, grave. "Darlin', do you think you can make it over to the quartermaster on your own? He knows you're comin', and he'll get you set up. I need to make a call."

"I can." Garrus paused for a moment, before saying, "Ma'am, I understand that in these situations, there's something that your part of Earth culture is fond of saying. What would Mr. Jesus do?"

Marlee stared at Garrus again, and he found himself taking a step back. "Did you really just say that to me?"

"I didn't mean to offend you."

"Boy, you look about as nervous as a sheep in a room full of Alabama boys."

One of the colonists, a native of Alabama, stopped in his tracks, and made a face at Marlee, but she hardly noticed, or cared. "But you shouldn't be. It's not you who's in trouble."

"Should I be worried for Jess?"

"You should be grateful that there are planets separatin' the two of us right now." Marlee fumed, turning on her heel. "I'll see you later, darlin'. Right now, I need to have a word with my grandbaby. You take care, now."

And with that, Marlee was gone, leaving Garrus to the mercy of the townsfolk.

"Alabama boys." The nearby colonist snorted. "Like the woman from North Florida has any room to talk."

Garrus blinked at the statement.

Just what the hell was a sheep, anyway? And what did people do to them in this part of Earth's culture? Or…not do, as seemed to be the case with the offended colonist.

Well, like any good cop (Which he wasn't, at least in some respects) he'd have to investigate.

Later. Much later. First…to the quartermaster. Marlee hadn't been kidding when she'd looked him over and called him, 'slap wore out'.

What did that even mean?

-.-.-.-.-

Over the next few days, Garrus found his experience with the colonists rather…strange. Yes, there was no better word for it.

The questions that the local children bombarded him with were the first sign of oddity.

"Why do you only have three fingers?"

"Can you go into your shell, like a turtle? I like turtles."

"Are you a dinosaur? If so, what kind? Are you a yoshi? Can I ride you?"

"I wish Mama would let me fingerpaint blue stuff on my face too."

"Bloody hell, mate! You don't have an arse! Where do you shit?!"

"Do you have a penis? I have one. Wanna see?"

Garrus was fine with the strange questions the children asked. Better that they receive an education from him, rather than some strange site on the extranet, as he'd often had to do with regard to certain matters of human culture.

Still, in the grand scheme of things, the children's questions were hardly about to do him in. The adult's hospitality, in contrast, just might have.

First, it was the food. Thankfully, Marlee understood that turians had different physiology from humans, and could only digest dextro products.

The other women of the town did not seem to understand this. In fact, once he was accepted as a guest, rather than a threat, it seemed that every woman in town—and quite a few of the men, at least with their beer, and barbeque—were determined to stuff him with food.

Their recipes ranged from Brunswick stew, to collared greens, to fried chicken, even a turducken was presented at one meal (Though, how they managed to squeeze three birds inside one another was beyond him. And frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the details. With luck, it wasn't done while the creatures were alive.) The drinks included things like squeezed lemons and sugar, and unduly sweet 'tea', whatever that was. The desserts always featured some sort some baked good, often crusty or covered in whip toppings, like their peach cobblers, or coconut cream pies.

He had to admit, when Marlee managed to add dextro ingredients to her recipes, they were delicious. With the other women, he learned quickly that all he could do was smile, and eat, and chase down whatever he'd just digested with a series of antihistamines.

Thankfully, one of the curious children had witnessed him trying to stomach one of Mrs. Takanawa's Wasabi Deviled Eggs, and informed him of the age old human practice of feeding the dog under the table.

And while the Takanawa family's terrier, bloodhound, and Labrador, all had leavings that were unusually green for the next week, no one paid much mind.

The hospitality did not stop at food, of course. The young men of the town had warmed to Garrus, particularly their friendly leader, a young farmer's son named Danny Buck.

One night, Danny Buck coaxed Garrus into coming with him, and some of the other former highschool football players (A very prestigious position, if Garrus remembered correctly) to one of the farms on the outskirts of the town.

Out in the fields, he understood that the…cows, as they were called, were sleeping. And the boys wished to tip them over.

Garrus didn't quite see the appeal, but he recalled the number of times Jess had insisted on shooting or ramming the local wildlife whenever they went planet-side in the Mako, especially on Ontarom, where they tended to be quite shifty.

As Garrus was the guest, he was given the honor of tipping the first cow, his turian strength easily allowing him to do so all by himself.

Dubious about this whole practice, the turian gave one of the bulls a light shove, his eyes widening when he heard the creature squeal, and tumble toward the ground.

Sadly, Garrus was a novice, and hadn't taken notice of the other creatures alongside the steer. When the first one hit the ground, he rolled right into the ankles of the next, sending all the creatures tumbling over like a series of mooing dominos.

And when the last one fell, he crashed right into the handle of the pen, breaking it clean off.

"Oh shit!"

The last cows standing were immediately spooked, and surged forward, knocking over the young men and Garrus as they scrambled to get out of the way, all of them screaming as the creatures raced over them, smashing into the boys that weren't lucky enough to get out of the way in time, as they headed right out the pen door, and down the road.

And as the cows ran off into the night, leaving behind a trail of groaning men and Garrus, the turian found himself wondering how he was going to explain Danny Buck's trampled leg to the colonist's doctor, or how he was going to explain the hoof-shaped bruises on his carapace to Marlee.

Oddly enough, a broken leg hadn't been enough to stop Danny Buck from his fun. Only his left one was broken, the young man insisted with a grin. And that meant he could still take Garrus mudding later in the week.

And later that week, Garrus indeed found himself walking toward a strange looking red vehicle. Danny Buck had called it a 'Dodge Ram', and had purchased it from an antique salesman some years back, during an auction. Danny Buck was an accomplished mechanic, and it hadn't taken too much to restore the vehicle, and even to equip it with a mass effect engine.

"Only thing about this darlin' girl that can't be fixed up is the tires. That's the heart of this." The young man had noted with a grin, as he and Garrus, and the rest of the group piled into the vehicle, all of them rolling down the windows.

If Garrus ever had any questions about just how Jess had learned to be such a despicable driver in the Mako, they were all answered in the next hour. The boys hooted and hollered as mud sprayed everywhere, drenching tires, doors, and faces as they raced through the field, spinning in circles and figure eights.

Unfortunately, one of the cows from the other night was still loose, and chose that precise moment to dart across the field, suddenly freezing in front of the approaching vehicle.

"Aw shit!" Danny Buck cursed again, swerving hard to avoid the creature.

A sigh of relief was heard from the group as they dodged, at least until the truck surged forward, and smashed into a fence post.

While Danny Buck had thought to fix up the driver's seat air bag, he had not yet done the same with the passenger side. And so, the threaded remains of Garrus' seatbelt snapped, sending him clean through the windshield, and out into the field, surrounded by broken glass and mud.

And as Garrus looked up at the blue sky, watching clouds pass by along with a few shreds of his dignity, and listening to the sound of worried boys slamming truck doors as they moved to check up on their guest, he couldn't help but be reminded of the time Jess had raced toward the Conduit on Ilos, building up speed and power as she sped alongside the ramp…and promptly missed the portal to the Citadel, sending the vehicle rolling across the ground, while everyone inside was shaken around like cornflakes in a cereal box, as Jess tried to regain control, and reattempt the jump.

At least the Mako had armor plating. He never thought he'd be grateful toward that vehicle, but this incident with the Dodge Ram had taught him differently.

Still, perhaps the strangest—yet, most appealing—moment happened when Garrus met Daisy Mae Myers.

The woman in question was in her early twenties, blonde and buxom. And upon seeing Garrus, she had immediately started giggling, and whispering to her nearby friend, Lacey Strickland.

Garrus understood that this was a courting behavior among humans. The commander had often done the same thing with Ashley, whenever they saw Kaidan walk out of the mess hall.

And that was not the only courting ritual the woman performed. He went with Marlee to visit the Myers farm, watching with fascination as Marlee lanced an abscess on one of the cows.

Normally, Garrus would have been focused on the look of absolute murder the cows had been giving him since his previous late-night run-ins with the creatures, but this time, he was focused on Daisy Mae.

The girl was twirling a lock of her gold fringe around her finger, while the other hand hooked over the hem of her shirt, slowly exposing one of her…what were they called…ah yes, "breasts" to him. Another courting ritual, he understood. One Miranda had used often with Dick, though her method typically involved pretending to drop something on the floor of the mess hall, and then bending over very, very slowly to pick it up.

If Dick's reaction was anything to go by, human males typically lost about half of their functioning intelligence when attractive females of their species did such things.

Garrus found himself wondering if he should suspend his personal confusion (Why would human females engage in a courtship ritual that left some of their most vulnerable sections so exposed? Perhaps it was a display of trust? And was he supposed to reciprocate? If so…well…how?) in favor of pleasing the girl, but Marlee beat him to the punch.

"Daisy Mae, are you gonna drown those two puppies with the pink nose?" The veterinarian drawled, without even bothering to look up from her scalpel. "Because I'll take 'em."

The young woman immediately blushed, and popped her breast right back into her blouse.

But that certainly did not stop the girl. It wasn't long before Garrus was making another trip to the Myers farm, this time finding Daisy Mae leaning up against the family's barn, grinning as Garrus approached.

They talked for a few minutes then. Well, Garrus talked. She giggled.

What was it with human females and giggling, anyway? He'd seen Jess and Ashley participate in the practice many times aboard the SR-1. Kasumi and Kelly had certainly indulged when Dick and Miranda were beginning their relationship aboard the SR-2. Miranda herself had even indulged, according to Kasumi, but only when she was sitting in the privacy of her own office, reading a message that Dick had sent her, unaware that a cloaked thief was watching her. Kasumi that even human males, like Zaeed, had engaged in the practice, though it was highly stigmatized amongst males in Earth culture. Kasumi was very careful to tell only a few select souls that she had witnessed Zaeed giggle fondly one of the times he stroked the barrel of Jessie's frame.

All thoughts of giggling soon vanished, as Daisy Mae began unbuttoning her blouse, and shucking off her shorts, soon standing there…what was the expression Marlee used? Right. Naked as a jay bird.

He supposed that she was pleasant for a human female. Her fringe was quite tall. Much taller than any of the other fringes he'd witnessed. Ashley and Jess certainly didn't have time to make their fringe stand up so high. Miranda had, but Garrus had witnessed her standing in front of the bathroom mirror, taking forever to fix it with some strange aerosol. This woman's fringe—hair, that's what it was called. Right—was even taller than Kaidan's.

Human males, he'd noticed, often tended to focus on certain, specific parts of their desired females' anatomy. Daisy Mae's hips were generous by human standards, flaring out like Miranda's, but the colonist did not have nearly as much flesh in her hindquarters. Garrus wondered if human males would feel disappointed by that. Personally, he was not too bothered by the matter. Her waist was certainly supportive, and her belly was cut close to her ribs. Attractive, by turian standards.

Still, he wasn't quite sure what to do about her…breasts. They were important to human males, he understood. But frankly, hers just looked large…and intimidating. What was the appeal? Certainly, they were important for nursing young, but from what he'd seen in certain vids, human males had a habit of collapsing against them post-coitus, or even sleeping against them. Human bones were weak…and he'd witnessed at least one or two horrifying videos of human females smashing soda cans with their…breasts. Some poor male could very well fracture his spine on accident, just laying against those things.

"Well, darlin', " Daisy Mae smirked, putting her hands on her hips. "You like what you see?"

Garrus wracked his brain for something, anything to say. "I…you…your uh…your hair is very…yellow. It's good. And the sclera of your eyes is very…white. Healthy. It's obvious you take good care of yourself. Good job."

His mandible flared in something like a smile, as he remembered something that had made some of the turian girls he'd seen during his time in C-Sec swoon. "And the distance between your sternum and your vagina is exemplary."

Daisy Mae stared at him for a long moment, before breaking into a fit of giggles, and pulling him close. She was soft. And warm. And her…breasts…were smushy. It wasn't so bad.

"Ain't you just the sweetest!" A grin struck her face, as she took him by the talons, and stepped into the barn. "I got a surprise for you."

As soon as they stepped inside, he saw Lacey, brown hair tumbling over her naked shoulders as she lay back in a pile of hay, winking at Garrus, and crooking a finger, beckoning him to come forward.

"You come over here and give me some sugar, Sugar." She purred, watching as Lacey linked her arms around Garrus's waist, lips and tongue rolling over the soft skin at his neck, while her fingers crept into the front of his pants, dipping low to take hold of the appendage that had swiftly emerged with the latest shift in his plates.

Ah yes, once he had mentioned to Jess aboard the SR-1 that he simply didn't find human females attractive.

He had dismissed that claim.

"I heard Daisy Mae called on you today." Marlee commented later that day, as Garrus sat in the kitchen, eating a dextro ham sandwhich, as the veterinarian prepared a cake for an upcoming bake sale.

Garrus blinked. Did she know what had happened? He knew that everyone in this town knew everything about each other, but…how did she know about *that*? Was she watching him? Were…were all the colonists watching him?

Daisy Mae's a sweet girl. Bit of a floozy though, bless her heart. Lacey too." Marlee commented absently, as she stirred a bowl of cake batter. "Guess it runs in the family. The Myers and the Stricklands share a grandma, or grandpa, somewhere along the way. Think those two are cousins, fourth or fifth. Not sure."

This time, when Garrus spit out his food, it wasn't because he was allergic.


	14. Mini: Apply Moist, Sterile Compresses

_Prompt: My preference is Miranda, but I'm not picky. What does the badass, saviour of the galaxy do when he has an off night? After all, he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders; that's gotta show somewhere. Please give me M!Shep in an established relationship having the worst sexual encounter of his life. He can't stay hard. She accidentally grazes him with her teeth. When he gets it up again, he goes too fast and rough, and she gets hurt. The condom breaks. Et cetera. His lover is very supportive, but in the end, neither one of them finish. How do they handle it? Does the man who can talk down vengeful Quarian fleets find himself unable to say anything? Can a genetically perfect woman feel inadequate? In the end, they try again and have mind-blowing sex. And lots of affectionate afterglow cuddling. _

Despite a series of unfornate instances, they swore that they had it this time.

Miranda bit her lip as she wrapped her arms around her lover, and her thighs circled his waist, pulling him close, so close. She could feel something rising inside of her, something thrumming and brimming with heat, just waiting to be released. And she was close, so close. She could feel him throbbing inside of her, every nerve alive with sensation, drawing her closer and closer to something so good, so rapturous, that she could hardly believe something so lovely existed.

"Harder." She growled into Shepard's ear, biting down hard on the lobe, and curling her nails into the back of his neck, digging the manicured digits deep into his skin. "Harder!"

And he obeyed, driving inside of her with all the force of an approaching train. A force of motion and power, stoking the heat inside her like hot coals on a fire. Something raw grew inside of her, threatened to shatter with just a few more thrusts, a few more of that powerful, rhythmic—

Wait. He stopped. He fucking stopped.

"Bloody hell, Shepard!" Miranda snarled, absolutely livid at the interruption. "Why would you-"

But his focus was not on her. He was staring down at the junction where their bodies met, giving their conjoined forms the same look he gave EDI when she joked about evacuating all the oxygen on the ship, while the crew traveled through deep space.

And then, Miranda saw it.

She was an educated woman. A fighting woman. She wore lab coats as easily as she did battle armor, wielded scalpels as efficiently as she did firearms. She had dealt with injury in both the medical and military section. She had been calm and rational throughout both.

Still…nothing quite measured up to the very real fact that this was HER blood. Which meant that Shepard had *TORN* something inside her.

And to what would later manifest as great shame, panic bubbled up inside her chest, and spilled out as a piercing, damn near inhuman, shriek.

Over the next few months, the crew would tell the joke, "What's black, white, and red all over? Miranda running out her office," to describe the executive officer's mad dash toward the bathrooms, blood dripping down her thighs, naked as the day she popped out of a test tube.

Miranda skidded to a halt as she stepped into the bathroom, yanking the nearest sink faucet, and splashing cold water all along her thighs.

It wasn't enough. Blood was still trickling from the slit that marked her as a woman, and it was not stopping. She knew medicine. She knew that in the field, one never placed dressings inside the vagina when bleeding was present. One needed to pad the area.

Fingers shaking, she reached for the nearest paper towel dispenser, finding that the paper was being stubborn. Naturally, she turned the spiked wheel at the corner of the creation…only to find that it was jammed.

Letting out an unguarded howl of frustration, Miranda threw a biotic pull right at the machine, aiming to turn the blasted wheel.

Instead, the whole of the item launched forward, smashing right into the genetically perfect woman's head.

She staggered back, clutching her temples as the corners of her eyes grew dark. She sank into a crouch, her body's natural way of shunting blood back to the head, but it wasn't enough.

Miranda fell backwards, her head smashing into the rim of the nearby urinal as she fainted, lying on the floor in a limp heap.

The door soon opened to reveal Zaeed as he stumbled out of Kasumi's lounge, and raced straight for the urinal, and proceeded with his 'evening piss' as he liked to call it (Or post-alcoholic consumption piss, as was the case in this instance), unconcerned with the woman lying in a bloody heap at his heels.

Shepard, for his part, had raced right after Miranda the moment she left her room, still sporting an impressive erection thanks to the effects of adrenaline, and paused, catching sight of Zaeed urinating with abandon, as Miranda groaned on the ground beside him.

The whole sight of it was a bit too much even for that hardened veteran's iron stomach, and he felt the bile rise in his throat.

Quickly, Shepard headed right for the shower, and threw up on the tiled floor.

His boner was still very much intact.

A long silence echoed throughout the room, as Zaeed zipped up his trousers, and Miranda let out a groan as she came to, pressing her fingers to her now bleeding head.

"Operative Lawson, the women's restroom is on the starboard side of the ship." EDI's voice rang out.

Zaeed was the only one to come out of that unscarred.


	15. Assorted Scenes: Miranda as a Mom

_Prompt: A few goofy scenes involving Miranda as a mom._

**#1**

After many years of contemplating the subject, Miranda Lawson does not believe that anyone can achieve perfection. Human beings are flawed creatures. Engaging, brilliant, fascinating creatures, worth preserving, but flawed, none the less. She was meant to be perfect, and she is every bit as flawed as any other human.

Her father had sought perfection in a child, and it had brought him only desolation. Her sister-in-law, Commander Shepard, is far from perfect, yet she is still considered the ideal in a world of human failure. Her husband is a far cry from perfect, and does not expect such from himself, or her. Never from her.

And while she has worked tirelessly to come to grips with her creation, her sense of inferiority, where she was meant to be nothing but superior, she is certain of one thing:

Until this day, she has never witnessed anything so close to the concept.

Her son is only a few minutes old, yawning lightly as he rests against her chest, clearly unimpressed with the circumstances of his birth.

He opens his eyes, the same blue as his mother's, and casts his gaze out toward his aunt, the one and only Commander Shepard.

And with a wide, toothless grin, he reaches out, and grabs her hair, yanking out dozens of bright red strands.

"Jesus!" The commander swears violently, clutching at her head, and glaring over at her brother, who is still busy weeping tears of joy over the birth of his son. "Guess we know which parent he takes after."

Oriana, for her part, arches a brow at the child. "Are you sure you didn't give birth to the kid from The Omen, Randa?"

"Oh, hush." Miranda scolds gently, rocking her son in her arms. She doesn't care if he is the child from The Omen. She loves him all the same.

She's never known love to come so quickly, so unprecedented. The boy could grow to be a neurosurgeon, or a bald-shaven criminal, and she will love him all the same. (Though she certainly will hope for the former, and take necessary steps to ensure that he is deterred from the latter path. Especially once the time comes for her to begin taking urine samples and genome maps from his daycare classmates.)

And it hits her…this…this is what most children receive from their parents. What they deserve.

A single tear trickles down her cheek, unbidden, and she clutches Cain even closer.

**#2**

Since first receiving the news that she would soon be a mother, Miranda Lawson has read a total of three thousand, six hundred and thirty-eight books dedicated to the subject of child psychology. All of them mention that children have unique methods of coping with a new pregnancy, and the promise of a new sibling, many of which are often seen in play.

Still, all her knowledge does not stop her from raising her brow at the sight of her sons, when the eighth month of her fourth pregnancy rolls by, and she finds that the three of them have developed a delivery scene in their Doctor-Patient play routine.

Troy has stolen one of Miranda's lab coats, and is kneeling at Neil's feet, instructing him to breathe.

Cain is holding Neil's hand, telling him that he's doing very well. The boy has stolen a pair of Dick's working boots, and has taken a container of his mother's eye shadow, smearing the dark substance over his face to take on the appearance of his father's stubble, a wise decision, given how poorly Miranda reacted the last time that her son had used a sharpie to draw lines of stubble on his face. Offering her son the eye shadow has been a fair compromise, she notes. Certainly an easier one, come bath time.

Neil is lying on the ground, legs spread, and pretending to scream in agony, all the while adorned in a long, black wig, his feet clad in a pair of Miranda's token stilettos. The boy gives one final scream, and one final push, while Troy pretends to pull out a baby doll from between his brother's thighs. He smiles widely, and congratulates Cain on a new baby girl, before handing the doll to its pretend father, and digging his palms into Neil's belly, under the pretense of massaging the pretend fundus.

For a brief, few seconds, he stares down at the doll in awe…and then his lip curls into a sneer of utter disgust.

"This is not my baby!" Cain roars, taking the infant doll and slam dunking it into the nearby laundry basket, not wanting to risk his mother's wrath by throwing the doll against the wall, like last time.

Miranda hopes that when the day actually comes, they do not attempt to herald the arrival of their baby sister in such a fashion.

**#3**

As a woman who spent the majority of her life alone, depending on nobody's wits but her own, she never fails to smile when she walks into her room late at night, and finds the family she's worked to create over the years fast asleep.

Dick is settled on his side of the bed, baby Cassandra curled up in the crook of his arm. Neil is on the other side of him, and Emily next to him. Above those two, the cat, Siren, has claimed the tops of their pillows. And below their feet rests Hercules, the Rottweiler, while Francine, the poodle, rests her head on Dick's hip. Turk, the great dane, is snoring at the end of the bed, while her son, Troy, snuggles up against him, and her oldest, Cain, is stretched out beside them, his feet glancing against the headboard.

Her father had certainly never held her after a bad dream. She'd had no stuffed animals, no pets, to keep her company during her childhood.

Her lovers had never deigned to stay with her, whether by their own volition, or hers, and every frivolous encounter she'd had in her youth always ended with her alone at the end of the night.

And for the first few months on the Normandy, there had been no one but her to curl up against those satin sheets and six pillows. And even when Dick had joined her, sharing her plush mattress had taken some getting used to. As had his snoring.

Now, there isn't an inch of her bed that isn't occupied.

Perhaps…too occupied.

Wait…where is she going to sleep?

An idea quickly crosses her mind, and she taps her sleeping husband's shoulder. "Dick?"

Something resembling a grunt escapes him.

"I'm hot."

Still dazed from slumber, Dick stands up, handing Cassandra to Miranda as he plods over to the door, flipping on the switch to the ceiling fan.

When he turns to go back to bed, and peels back the covers, he frowns, something resembling alertness flooding through him when he realizes that Miranda is now holding Cassandra…and Neil is next to her…and Francine's head is on her hip now.

And she is fast asleep, head resting comfortably against his pillow.

"That was mean, Lawson." Dick mutters, collecting a spare pillow and blanket, as he begins considering the length and relative comfort of each of the couches downstairs.

Miranda smiles in her sleep.

**#4**

When Halloween rolls around, Cain, Neil, and Troy snack away on their stashes with abandon. Emily, in contrast, starts charting her candy, drawing diagrams and pictures and tally marks, so that she can know exactly what type of candy she has, and how much she has left. Just in case any sneaky, parental fingers come a bit too close to her pillowcase.

"You want some help counting your candy, sweetheart?" Dick grins over to Emily.

The little girl narrows cool green eyes at her father, and hugs the pillowcase even closer. "No."

"Why not? I'm good at it."

"I have the utmost respect for your abilities, Daddy. It's your motivations that concern me." Emily replies in a tart tone of voice, casting her father a suspicious look as he eyes the outline of Skittles and Starbursts through the white fabric of the container.

Miranda looks up from her task of slyly pocketing a substantial portion of Troy's Hershey Kisses, and can't help a smile of her own as Dick lets out a hearty burst of laughter at Emily's familiar words.

**#5**

A teenaged Emily finds herself very confused when she comes home, and announces that she plans to try out for the cheerleading team, as her father's immediate response is to burst into laughter, while her mother rolls her eyes, and tosses a pillow at his head.


End file.
